


Remembrance

by Onyx_Stars



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dissociation, Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-08 13:51:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 61,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5499449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onyx_Stars/pseuds/Onyx_Stars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barry has amnesia. Len grabs his chance to loop the speedster into helping out the Rogues. Little does he know that even without memories, Barry is more than capable of taking him on.</p><p>{Inspired by a Tumblr post, divergent after episode 2x09}</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unknown

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this idea is absolutely not my own and was inspired by [this post here](http://coldflashtrash.tumblr.com/post/135526005253/palpablenotion-dorkofthefandom-kurosmind).
> 
> I saw it and just couldn't help but start writing. This fic hopefully won't be too long or too dark, because university is keeping me horribly busy (but hey, at least I learnt a lot about amnesia...)  
> And I promise, I'm hoping that we'll get to the shippy parts soon just as much as you.
> 
> Currently not beta-read. If anyone's interested, please let me know!

The first thing he saw when he woke up was a ceiling. An old, ratty, altogether really ugly ceiling. 

The next thing he noticed was a voice, low, calm, really nice in a way. And the uncomfortable couch he was lying on. 

He turned around and spotted a man. He couldn't place the man's face, but _wow_ —that was a really handsome face. Definitely made up for the ugly ceiling. 

The man stopped talking on the phone, looking over at him and coming over. 

"About time you woke up." 

He blinked, feeling confused. He was pretty sure that introductions should have been in order first. But the man acted like he knew him, somehow. 

"What? No 'thank you for saving my ass'?" The man asked after a moment of quiet, raising his brows. 

He sat up, wincing slightly. God, everything hurt. He felt pretty beaten up, but couldn't remember what had happened. Or why he was wearing whatever it was he was wearing, which looked like a garishly red suit. How weird. 

He frowned. His body hurt, but so did his head. Everything felt out of place. 

"Who are you?" He asked eventually, looking at the man expectantly. 

The man seemed taken aback by his question, considering him with a calm look and crossing his arms. A moment of silence ensued between them, then the man stepped a little closer. 

"You don't remember?" The man asked, seeming—wary, in a way. It was hard to place, as if every expression on the man's face was nothing but a carefully constructed mask. 

He shook his head, feeling oddly helpless. "No. Should I?" 

The man sighed, sitting down on a chair next to the couch. It drew his attention to an oddly glowing weapon strapped to the man's thigh. 

"Do you remember who _you_ are?" The man asked cautiously. 

He opened his mouth to answer. Of course he knew, everyone did— 

He didn't. 

Oh, dear god, he _didn't_. He couldn't recall his name, didn't know who he was, and god, how was that even possible— 

"Calm down, Scarlet. Don't panic." 

Surprisingly, trying not to panic did not help much with not panicking. He sucked in a hurried breath that didn't seem like enough, then another, chest feeling too tight. Hands clutching into fists, he felt the strange red leather gloves pulling over his knuckles, and his hands were shaking in a really weird way, almost like they were vibrating but that wasn't possible, and the odd outfit was just another reminder that he didn't know anything about himself— 

"Scarlet," the man cut through his thoughts, one hand reaching out and curling around his wrist. 

He looked up, taking a deeper breath. Okay, right, right, he could do this. Ask questions first, panic later. 

"You keep calling me that, is that my name?" That would be a really weird name. But then again, so was this suit he was wearing. What if he had been—was?—some really weird guy? 

The man was quiet for a moment, and when he looked up, he saw that the guy was grinning a little. 

"No. Your name's Barry Allen." 

He frowned a little. The name didn't ring a bell, or feel familiar in any way. Was it supposed to feel familiar? Or was it to be expected that it felt strange? 

"So... 'Scarlet' is a nickname? Does that mean we're friends? We have to be, right, you wouldn't have a nickname for me if we weren't—that means you know stuff about me? You can answer some questions?" 

The man was grinning even more now. 

"If you don't ask too many at once, sure." 

He—Barry, okay, he could do this, his name was Barry—leant against the back of the couch. He tried for a grateful smile, and wow, it felt weird not knowing how that expression looked on his face, what his face even looked like. 

"Okay, and... your name?" 

"I'm Len," the man answered, a smug grin stretching over his lips. It seemed a bit uncalled for, a bit too complacent given the situation, but maybe that was just his face? "We're—friends." 

"Okay. Uh, great. Why am I wearing a red full-body leather suit?" 

Len was quiet for a moment before he replied. "That's the Flash's suit—not yours." 

"Who's the Flash?" 

"Superhero. Disappeared a few days ago, you decided to step in and got your ass handed to you by the Flash's enemies." 

"And that's where you came in to save my ass, and that's why everything hurts right now?" 

"Yes, that would be right. Mind getting out of that thing now?" 

"Sure," Barry started and got up, gloved fingers slipping over red leather and finding the zipper almost on their own. Barry guessed that was a good thing, since he really wouldn't have wanted to ask for help. That would have been embarrassing. Almost as embarrassing as suddenly sitting there with the suit pooling around his hips, and realizing that he was only wearing boxer briefs underneath. 

He could feel the heat rising up to his cheeks, sending a sheepish glance over to Len. "Um, do you—" 

"I should have some spare clothes. Wait here," Len instructed, still with that odd grin to his lips, and left the room. 

He returned with a pair of loose sweatpants and a shirt that was a bit too wide around Barry's shoulders, but it was better than the odd suit. Once Barry settled back down, body still aching all over, Len insisted on him getting some rest before asking anything else. 

As it turned out, that wasn't such a bad idea, because after drinking some water and stuffing himself with an unexpectedly large amount of frozen pizza, Barry felt quite a lot better. And with that newfound energy, he began drilling Len with questions. 

Len had an odd way of replying, answering each question with only a few words and none of it felt familiar to Barry. But it was enough for Barry to get an idea of who he—who Barry Allen—was. As he got to know, his mother had been murdered when he was eleven. His father had been sentenced for life for the murder, but didn't actually commit it as Barry was ultimately able to prove. His father had been released just a few weeks ago, but left the city. Barry had been raised by the Wests, Joe and Iris. 

Barry was a CSI with the Central City Police Department, had chosen the job to prove his father's innocence. But the police not believing him about his father's innocence for over 14 years had lead Barry to hold a grudge deep down. 

"You don't really like hurting people, never did. But when we first met, you were pissed enough to agree to help me pull a heist. And you _loved_ it. The thrill, the danger, the adrenaline—and you're good at it. You know how the police work, how crime scenes are analyzed. So you kept it up, worked with me a few times." 

"Really?" Barry asked, feeling a bit incredulous. It sounded like a strange concept, working for the police and at the same time using that knowledge to be a criminal. But when Barry thought about it, about the rush of successfully pulling off something that nobody else could—that felt good. Right. Like something—some _one_ —he actually was. 

Len nodded. "You didn't do it often. Pretty sure I'm the only one you ever worked with." 

Then Len went on about what had happened to Barry. When the particle accelerator had exploded, Barry had ended up with super powers. Super speed, to be exact. Barry didn't believe Len about that one until the other man pulled out a key ring, throwing it at Barry. In mid-air, the keys suddenly slowed down, almost standing still. It felt surreal and freaked Barry out enough that despite having pretty much all the time in the world, he didn't reach out to catch the keys before they hit his chest. It was enough to make him believe Len that something about him was different, though, so he accepted the super power story for now to let Len continue. 

As if the story hadn't been crazy enough yet, Len went on to tell him that he wasn't the only one to end up with super powers, and also not the only one to have super speed. There were quite a lot speedsters, as Len called them, among them the Flash, some yellow guy and also one with a black suit that seemed to be really bad news. Barry himself had apparently decided to keep his powers a secret and not use them unless absolutely necessary. 

Which turned out to be this evening, when Mardon and Jesse—whoever those two guys were—had threatened families with children. The Flash hadn't shown up, so Barry had grabbed a replica of the suit and gone out to take on the fight himself. A rather bad idea, if the bruises and pain were anything to go by. Especially Mardon, who seemed to have some sort of weather powers, had been hard on him, and Len's guess was that something between being hurled through the air, being hit with giant hailstones and struck by lightning had led to Barry's amnesia. 

Once Barry felt like he'd asked enough questions—at least for now—he sighed deeply. It felt so odd to hear someone else recite his life to him, unable to recognize any of it himself. 

"Do you think my memory's gonna' come back soon?" Was his last question, but he already knew that Len wouldn't be able to answer that one. 

Just as expected, the other man shrugged. "Don't know. I know someone with medical knowledge, I'll ask her." 

Barry nodded. "That'd be nice, thanks. So... How do we do this? I'm guessing I'll head back to my foster family—Joe and Iris, right?" 

"You could. But I think you should stay here." 

"Why that?" Barry asked, surprised. 

Len gave him a wry grin. "Me and you working together—that's our little secret, Barry. As far as I know, you've never told any of your friends about this. Are you sure you could keep this hidden, now, in your state? And let me tell you, you're a terrible liar, even with your memory fully functional." 

Barry frowned, gnawing on his lower lip. He couldn't even remember any of the people Len had mentioned to him, and the other man had seemed friendly enough so far. Barry didn't really feel comfortable with the idea of leaving. "I guess you're right, but won't they be worried if I just disappear like this?" 

Len looked contemplative for a moment, then shook his head. "Don't think so. You moved out some time ago. Should be a few days until they start to wonder. And we _were_ just about to plan a heist together." 

"Okay...? I'm not sure if I can be much of a help like this," Barry mumbled. Hearing so much about himself had helped him calm down, but there was still the low hum of anxiety deep down inside him, reminding him that something about this situation was really, really fucking wrong. He had amnesia, for god's sake. 

"Don't worry, Scarlet," Len answered, grin equal parts encouraging and oddly smug. "I'm sure you'll do _great_." 

Barry nodded, shifting on the couch to find a more comfortable sitting position. "Sure... Thank you for saving my ass, I guess. And, you know—everything else. Telling me who I am." 

Len's grin turned fully smug at that, almost predatory, and Barry couldn't help but find it oddly off-putting, that Len seemed to be so very satisfied and worry so little with a friend suddenly having amnesia. 

"My pleasure, Barry."


	2. Good and Bad Calls

Len didn't know what he'd done to get so profoundly lucky. Maybe good deeds really did pay off. Getting the Flash out of that mess certainly was doing just that.

He'd just been there to keep an eye on things, not believing that Mardon and Jesse would actually be able to beat the Flash—but then again, the Flash was easy to see through, weaknesses easy to exploit, and with something as precious as children's lives hanging in the balance, the Flash hadn't fought back until it was nearly too late.

Not that Len had been worried. He just didn't like to be wrong when predicting the outcome of a fight, and he hadn't gone to all the trouble of explicitly warning the Flash, only to see him die. As it turned out, the Flash's merry team of scientists had figured out a way to get rid of the bombs in the end, and the Flash had finally fought back.

The only problem was that he was already more than just a little banged up, and in typical overly dramatic superhero versus supervillain fashion, Mardon had managed to get one last good hit in before going down. A bolt of lightning had hit the Flash head on just as he'd knocked Mardon out, sending the speedster hurtling through the air, coming to a stop not far from where Len was lurking in the shadows to keep an eye on things, unconscious. Then, as if things hadn't been chaotic enough already, some police woman had pulled up, disregarding the Flash in favor of some personal vendetta against Mardon, as far as Len could tell.

That wasn't what really interested him, though. No, the important part was that with that woman there and more police sure to arrive in the next few minutes, the secret identity of the Flash was at stake. And if that became public knowledge, Len wouldn't have anything to hold over the speedster's head anymore.

Len couldn't have that, of course, so he'd grabbed the Flash and driven off to a close-by safe house. The plan had been easy—wait things out until the Flash woke up, gloat a bit, make sure that the kid understood that he owed Len now for dragging his sorry ass out of that mess, then let him run off so no one would know that Captain Cold had just saved the hero's life. A good plan, really. Nothing should have gone wrong.

But the Flash just had a tendency to mess with Len's plans, and apparently that also applied when the kid wasn't even running.

The Flash had amnesia.

Couldn't remember a thing. Didn't know who he was, who Len was, that they were enemies, or anything else.

Suddenly, there had been two options presented before Len. He could tell the kid the truth, then grab him up and deliver him back to his friends. It would mean that they'd owe him even more, but it would also make it pretty much impossible to keep his involvement in everything hidden. _Or_ , Len could use this incredible opportunity for what it was—a chance to recruit the Scarlet Speedster and his amazing powers into the Rogues.

Just the thought of it, the endless possibilities of planning a heist with someone possessing super speed at his back and call—the option of being a good and honest person had never even stood a chance.

He'd come up with the first few lies off the top of his head, needing to explain to the kids that they were friends, working together, and why he was wearing the suit of Central City's hero. Then, while Barry had rested, he'd been able to mentally go over the research he'd done on the kid and spin it just as much as needed to convince Barry that they were partners in crime. Literally.

There were a few simple things he wouldn't be able to keep from Barry for long. Central City had a hero, the Flash, possessing super speed. That was a fact. Barry had super speed. Also a fact. It almost came in handy that there were at least two other speedsters as well at this point, because it made one of Len's bigger lies way more believable—telling Barry that he had super speed, yes, but that someone else was the Flash. Making Barry nothing more than a stand-in due to convenience in the fight with Mardon and Jesse, and Len the dutifully worrying friend.

It hadn't been easy to come up with something like that so fast, wasn't perfect by any means, but Len had put as much of the truth into the story as he possibly could. He had only lied about Barry not being the Flash and Barry assisting Len from time to time with his heists. He figured that as long as he kept Barry from interacting with his friends, the other wouldn't see through those lies any time soon. Maybe never, even.

One of his first priorities would be to get rid of the Flash suit—he'd deactivated comm and tracking device before bringing Barry to his safe house, not wanting the Flash's team to find them—and get Barry to trust him more. Get the kid to like him. If Barry ever found out the truth, that would likely be the only thing that could save him from the speedster's wrath. Well, that and other weaknesses Len could discover now.

It felt a bit strange after their talk, seeing Barry looking at him with so much trust and belief in those wide eyes—it reminded Len of their conversation in prison, when Barry had insisted that there was good in him—

Well, if Barry got his memory back, he would surely be disillusioned about that. If Len truly was that good, he'd have brought Barry back to his friends instead of concocting this lie and keeping him around. Barry would be furious without a doubt, should he ever find out. Len made a mental note to call Shawna, learn as much about amnesia as was possible so he'd know if Barry was likely to regain his memory any time soon. Then again, the speedster's recovery might not go by the book.

But until then, until Barry saw through the lie, he would get to planning and pulling off the greatest heists the world had ever seen, and no one would be able to stop him.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Len let Barry have the bed for the night. It only seemed fair, seeing as he'd just quite successfully attempted to rewrite the kid's personality to suit his own needs. Barry seemed very interested in learning more about who he was, and Len had spent a good part of the night researching forensic scientist Barry Allen. If this web of lies was to come down on him, it would be because Barry remembered, not due to Len getting caught contradicting himself.

And besides, it wasn't like he'd changed _much_ —just the really bothersome parts. The rest was still the same. And it wasn't like he had _planned_ for Barry to get amnesia. The kid would have been in way more trouble if Len hadn't taken him, if he'd stayed there without memory, for the police to find or for Mardon to kill.

He'd also called Shawna and she'd agreed to meet up today, check on Len's amnesiac _friend_. Len hadn't provided more information than that, not wanting to give away Barry's identity. He didn't know Shawna beyond her patching him and a few others up from time to time, as thanks for helping her escape the pipeline. That wasn't nearly enough for Len to trust her, not with secrets like that. After all, he hadn't even told Lisa and Mick who was hiding behind the Flash's cowl.

Besides, not having blabbed about Barry's identity was also something Len was hoping he could use as a saving grace, should he end up with an angry speedster all of a sudden.

But for now, Barry didn't seem to suspect a thing. He ate, a lot. Len could only assume that it was related to Barry's powers, and acted like it didn't come as a surprise to him. After all, he and Barry were old _friends_.

Another thing he learnt was that Barry tended to talk a lot, and fast. Lots of babbling and lots of blushing to accompany each time Barry accidentally said something embarrassing. That happened surprisingly often. Barry also didn't use his speed all that much, and Len couldn't tell if it was something the other man usually did or if it had anything to do with Len telling Barry that he didn't use his powers much. He guessed he would have to wait and see on that one.

Barry, meanwhile, was finishing breakfast by polishing off his third plate of scrambled eggs. Once the plate was empty, he looked up at Len with a sheepish smile. "So, I guess I'm a very hungry person..." he started, and Len couldn't help but smile at the kid's obvious embarrassment.

"I noticed."

Barry gave him an indignant pout, already looking a lot less embarrassed.

"Relax, Scarlet, I know you'll help me get the money back. And I called Shawna, she said we could come over in an hour or two, have her take a look at your head."

"Great, thanks. Do you—" Barry trailed off, fidgeting nervously.

Len gave him a moment before asking. "Yes, Barry?"

"Dou you think I could—take a shower here?" Barry asked carefully, looking way too timid and for a moment Len didn't even know what his problem was. "I—I mean, this is your place, right? And I'm just crashing here without warning, and you're already doing so much for me, and I don't even— I don't even know if I can do any of this, what if I don't remember how to shower or how to use a towel, what if I'm back to being a toddler mentally, I don't even know what I look like anymore—"

"Barry," Len cut in, waiting until wide startled eyes had focused on him before continuing. " _Chill_. You can eat and talk just fine, I'm sure you'll be able to take a shower. And if you can't manage on your own, I'll happily come in and help you out."

"Ha ha," Barry muttered dryly, a brilliant flush settling on his cheeks. Len couldn't help but smirk. Well, _that_ was new. He'd never seen Barry Allen express any interest in men before... but then again, they hadn't exactly met under the friendliest circumstances before. Either way, this was definitely something worth exploring.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Like a good, morally sound person would, Len waited patiently outside while Barry took his shower. He couldn't help but notice that the younger man took a lot of time, but Barry probably needed it to stare into the mirror and get reacquainted with his body. The innocent way.

Len wasn't complaining about all that extra time. He informed Lisa and Mick that he was planning a new job for all of them, something big, so they'd better be ready and not stir up unnecessary trouble until then. He also went over his safe houses, picking out one that was nice and would have to do for him and Barry for the next few weeks. They couldn't stay at this one much longer, not with how close it was to where the Flash had disappeared, and the suit in a dumpster not far away.

Another thing Len had already spent a lot of time looking into was the Flash's friends. It wasn't a secret that the Flash and the Burning Man—or Firestorm, as he seemed to be called—had worked together occasionally, but that wasn't the only one. Rumor had it the Flash also knew the Green Arrow, and even a man and a woman with actual _wings_. All of those might come looking if the Flash stayed gone for too long, and Len had no intention of being found.

The last thing he had to look into were things worth stealing. There were a _lot_ , obviously. But with the Flash on his team, and all the possible repercussions that could have, whatever he stole would have to be worth it. Or maybe something smaller first, a test run to see how well he could use the talents of Barry Allen, CSI.

But before Len could decide on anything, Barry emerged from the bathroom, wrapped up in a huge towel, hair dripping wet and flushing as soon as he noticed Len looking at him.

"Clothes are in the bedroom," Len indicated with a nod of his head into the according direction, feeling not the least bit guilty for getting a glance at what was hiding under that red suit. Who knew the Scarlet Speedster was built like that.

With Barry dressed and dry, it was time for them to leave and meet Shawna. She had agreed to meet them at the backroom of a bar she was currently working at, mostly in the back to avoid being recognized by cops or the Flash's friends.

Before they left, Len gave Barry a stern glance. "Remember not to use your powers around her."

"What? Why?" Barry looked a bit confused. "I thought she was a friend of yours?"

"I know her, I work with her, but I don't do _friends_ ," Len answered. "Besides, you didn't tell anyone about your powers before. You probably had your reasons, even if I don't know them."

Barry looked contemplative, brows drawing together in thought, but then nodded. "You're probably right."

Len smirked a little. Of course he was. As if he would share the secret of the Flash's secret identity with just anyone. "Maybe it's because she doesn't like the Flash. Guy might be a hero, but he locked his 'villains' up in some secret base of his, and later tried to ship them off to somewhere even more remote. Turns out, people don't really appreciate being illegally carted off to the north China sea."

"He tried to do that?" Barry sounded upset, eyes wide with alarm. "But— _why_?"

Len shrugged, keeping the wide grin off his face. Getting Barry to dislike the Flash was something that could be very helpful later on, to keep Barry from seeking out contact with his former team. "Don't know the details. Some of them were assholes. Shawna not really. She used her powers to bust her boyfriend out of jail. Guy got away, she got locked into the Flash's private little Alcatraz. I facilitated her and the other's escape. That's why she agreed to look you over."

Barry still looked shaken, somewhere between angry and worried. "But isn't that guy supposed to be a hero?"

"He might have had his reasons. I don't know, Barry. I heard a few of the metahumans—people with powers—got killed fighting him. But they usually try to kill him first, so..." Len shrugged and trailed off, watching with satisfaction how Barry reacted to all that information.

"But that's not—that doesn't sound right," Barry muttered, fingers clenching nervously as he put on the warm jacket Len had handed him. "If Shawna didn't do anything that bad... Would he have gone after me, too? Just because I have powers?"

"He only went after the criminals, Barry. Relax."

"But if I helped you steal things, I _am_ a criminal," Barry was starting to sound seriously distressed, and Len felt like he had driven enough of a wedge between Barry and the Flash for now.

"I wouldn't let the guy lock up my favorite police guy. Calm down, Barry." Len tried for his best reassuring smile, trying to think back to consoling Lisa way, way back when they were younger. Barry gave him an unsure glance, but then took a deep breath, tension draining out of his shoulders.

"Okay." Barry mumbled, looking grateful and trusting, even more so than before. Len felt quite proud of himself for getting so far with almost nothing but the truth.

He handed Barry a helmet—he wasn't one for taking unnecessary risks, and it would also prevent Barry from being recognized by anyone—, checked the safe house over to make sure that there wasn't anything incriminating left behind that could be traced back to him, and then they were off.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

They found Shawna without problems, slipping into the backroom unnoticed due to the early hour. It wasn't the cleanest place, one of the lights flickering continuously and slowly driving Len crazy, but they were the only ones around and Len appreciated the privacy. Shawna didn't recognize Barry, and Barry didn't recognize Shawna. So far, so good.

Len introduced Barry as a friend of his, not missing the way Barry straightened up behind him at being called that.

Shawna greeted Barry with a friendly smile, introducing herself and telling them that she would try her best. "But don't get your hopes up. I haven't finished med school, and your problem could be psychological more than organic. And without any imaging methods available there's only so much I can do for you."

"Imaging methods?" Barry asked curiously, and Shawna shrugged.

"You know, fMRI, PET, maybe EEG. I can't say if the amnesia was because of organic matters or if it's psychogenic without that. So I can't give you any advice for physical treatment, either."

"Any chance we could get one of those?" Len asked, but Shawna shook her head.

"The first two are very large and very expensive, and I wouldn't know how to conduct one. And EEG on its own isn't all that helpful." That was a pity. It would have been useful to learn more about Barry's amnesia. "Do you know what happened to Barry before? If the amnesia might have been caused by blunt force to the head, or if might have been brought on by childhood trauma..."

Barry hesitated, giving Len an unsure glance and Len took over answering for him. "He got knocked out in a fight, can't remember anything since then. Might have been that. Childhood trauma's there, too."

Shawna looked contemplative. "Guess it could be either, then. Let's see." She went through her bag, pulling out a few sheets with printed questions.

What followed was quite boring for Len, but seemed to be quite informative for Shawna. She asked Barry if he knew what his name was, his age, names of family and friends, then went on to other things like what year it was and if he remembered how to do his job. Around the time she was asking Barry to describe random objects and if he could fold a paper plane, Len zoned out. He wouldn't have expected amnesia to be so boring.

Shawna's odd questions seemed to be worth it, though. "I'm pretty sure that it's dissociative amnesia. Semantic and procedural memory are intact, the episodic one is completely gone. It also seems to be retrograde only, which isn't all that common as far as I know," she told them, looking quite confident in her assessment.

"Meaning?" Len asked, shooting a careful glance at Barry who looked like he'd taken a lot more from that than Len had.

"He forgot personal details, but not general facts or how to do things. And he doesn't seem to have any difficulties forming new memories," Shawna explained. "Amnesias like that tend to be psychogenic, so not based on brain damage, but without brain scans there's no telling for sure. You could try with medication, but I'm not sure if that'll help. Though it's actually not that uncommon for people to recover memories on their own."

"So I might remember things in time?" Barry asked, looking curious and hopeful. Len really hoped that Barry wouldn't remember all that much any time soon.

"Yeah, but I can't promise you anything there. If you get a chance to go to someone with more knowledge than me, you should really go for that. I'm no expert, and only read up on it last night because Cap asked me to."

"Don't say that, you really figured out a lot already—", Barry thanked her, then stopped, looking confused. "Who's _Cap_?"

Shawna blinked, then chuckled, waving her hand. "Sorry, I forgot, of course you don't know—anymore. _Captain Cold_ is Snart's alias for when he's out fighting the Flash."

Len gave Shawna a glare. He hadn't wanted Barry find out so soon that he'd fought the Flash so closely, had wanted to put his own spin on things. But now it was too late, and Barry was already looking at him with a mix of amusement and mockery. "Your super villain name is ' Captain Cold'?"

"It fit," Len gave back. Barry seemed endlessly amused by that and it wasn't the respect Len would have wanted, but it was better than the younger man focusing too much on how Captain Cold was a _bad guy_.

"I didn't know you were that involved in the whole costumed business, Len," Barry remarked, snickering slowly dying down.

"I can tell you more about it later if you want," Len offered, looking over to Shawna. "If there is nothing more you can tell us...?"

Shawna shook her head. "There isn't. But—Len, would you mind staying behind for a moment? It's about that— _thing_."

Len frowned a little. He wasn't comfortable with leaving Barry alone, but since it was something Shawna obviously didn't want Barry to hear... He looked at Barry, leaving the question hanging between them. "Think you can wait a moment?"

"Uh—sure..." Barry muttered, looking not nearly as sure. But he shuffled out of the room anyway, closing the door behind him. Len just hoped this wouldn't take long.

"What is it, Shawna? Unless you suddenly changed your mind and want to play a part in our heists after all, I don't remember there being any _thing_."

"It's not about that, Cold, there—", she trailed off, taking a deep breath and looking conflicted. Len raised his brows to prompt her to continue. She sighed. "It's hard to really research amnesia because it doesn't happen all that often, and everybody's brain is wired differently. But amnesias like Barry's, they tend to be caused by childhood trauma, and, there's a bunch of theories, you know. But—"

Shawna broke off again, chewing her lower lip. "What," Len asked, feeling fed up by Shawna's stalling. There was an uncomfortable bit of worry starting to gnaw at him—for his grand plans, of course.

"You said he's your friend, and I don't know how close the two of you are, but he seems to rely on you. _A lot_. As I said, everything is theoretical, so I don't want to imply anything, but. It's assumed that the amnesia is an attempt to repress the memory of the trauma. That trauma usually being prolonged abuse by the parents. And, dealing with amnesia, whether the memories return or not, it's a lot of stress on a person. He could get depressive. Anxious. Panic attacks. Dissociation attacks. Suicidal. It could be any of that. Again, I'm not saying that any of that might _actually_ happen. But he seems to rely on you, so just—just make sure to keep an eye on things."

"Of course," Len muttered. He left the room, pulling on his gloves, fingers feeling oddly cold and numb.

"Everything alright?" Barry asked, suddenly walking behind him and Len hadn't even noticed him coming up. He looked over at the younger man, at green-gray eyes that looked so earnest, a bit worried perhaps.

Len swallowed.

Let out a slow breath.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Let's go, Barry. Got a heist to plan."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In today's chapter: More of Len being an ass! Give him a few more chapters to thaw ang actually start feeling guilty for anything...
> 
> Also more back story and Len's motives. All very important. And Shawna. I really liked Shawna and I think Team Flash went too hard on her, considering all she did at first was breaking her boyfriend out of jail. And what is it with Barry suddenly killing metas without remorse in season 2? Len is basically just voicing my own questions.
> 
> As for all the mental illness stuff, it's not all that common to happen and, just as Shawna says, highly theoretical. But it's possible, and Len needs to feel bad for something. Also I really hope one of my exams will ask about amnesia, I feel like an expert now...


	3. Blurring the Lines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, a big thanks to everyone who commented on this fic! It's so nice to hear that you're enjoying it so far and that I'm not completely fucking things up, considering it's my first time writing for this fandom and all. And also a huge motivator! I can guarantee you, this chapter wouldn't have been up that fast otherwise. I'm still at odds with the comment reply-system of this site, so I think I'll stick to general thank yous for now unless actual questions come up, if that's okay for everyone?
> 
> I want to apologize in advance for any spelling mistakes. I'm probably more impatient than you to get this uploaded, because actual people other than Len and Barry are going to show up next chapter and I'm super pumped to get to that part :')
> 
> In other news, Barry freaking out a lot is providing way too many opportunities to let Len tell him to "chill"...

Len didn't drive them back to the same place as before. This one was nicer, a small house in a suburban neighborhood, painted a pretty light blue and nicely done up inside. Two floors and a TV and two bedrooms. Barry didn't want to complain, going by looks alone, but as far as he remembered, people didn't just suddenly move somewhere else without even bringing a suitcase.

According to Len, changing places was something he did quite often, though—Len, that was, not Barry. All the man had brought along were his parka, the strange gun Barry had noticed before, and a laptop. Apparently, the last place had just been someplace small to crash at and take care of Barry after getting knocked out, whereas this one was used more to actually live in. It really was a whole lot nicer, so Barry wasn't going to complain.

Len left after dropping him off, to get groceries and clothes that would fit Barry. Waiting for him to return, Barry couldn't help but feel like a child being taken care of. He didn't like the feeling, sitting on the couch and watching TV. He was technically an adult, after all. But the fact remained that he felt quite helpless without Len.

He didn't know anyone else.

Len hadn't mentioned any friends of Barry's, and apparently Barry and his family weren't that close. Barry supposed that it was quite nice of the other man to take him in, during this whole amnesia thing. Sure, there had to be better options than staying with a known criminal, but Len wasn't all that bad. Cooking for Barry and telling him things and getting them information on all this amnesia stuff. And Shawna had seemed very nice. Barry liked her.

Considering where else he could have ended up, he could count himself lucky. He could have been dead after fighting those two enemies of the Flash. Or taken in by the police, assuming he was the Flash because of him wearing the suit. Or taken in by the Flash, locked into that pipeline prison of his or even dragged off to another continent.

Barry shuddered. No. Having Len around to buy him food and be his friend was a lot better than all of that.

Len was gone for quite some time, and there wasn't anything good on TV. Barry got bored eventually, starting to think about other things. He wondered what he'd have to do about his job. He couldn't just not show up for weeks on end. But he couldn't remember how to _do_ said job. According to Shawna, he could remember the facts—and he did, he supposed, he could recall how blood would spatter depending on the angle of the weapon—but it still didn't feel like he actually knew _how_ to do it. It was weird.

He wondered if he could still do his job like that. Maybe he should look for a new one. He was working with a criminal anyway, helping Len steal things and all that. Working for the police just seemed contradictory. But at the same time, he didn't want to just give up on it. Didn't want to completely lose the person he had been before.

When the existential dread became too much, Barry set out to explore the house. There was the hallway straight on after coming in, with the kitchen on the right, the living room ahead, and the stairs on the left. And the first floor up, with the two bed rooms at opposite ends of the hallway and the bathroom in the middle. Not much to explore, really.

He headed back down, gaze straying to the table in the living room when the strange gun lying there caught his attention. Len had left it and the laptop before heading out. Barry could see that it was quite an intricate design, countless small parts fitted together, but it looked odd. Not like it could shoot bullets at all. Perhaps it was some sort of special weapon, designed for Len's supervillain persona? What had been the name, Captain Cold? Maybe this was what Len used against the Flash. Barry resolved to ask once the man came back.

As it turned out, he didn't have to wait long. He was still inspecting the gun, holding it carefully as to not accidentally shoot himself in the face or something equally stupid, when he heard the front door open.

He cautiously peeked into the hallway, seeing Len coming in carrying multiple large bags. Definitely more than just groceries. Barry had to wonder how he'd even managed to fit all of that onto the motorcycle.

"Hey," he greeted Len, smiling and walking over to take some of the bags off of him.

"Hi. I got us food, plus clothes for you. Also a burner phone. And a laptop. Thought you might want to do some research on your—put that down, it's not a toy." Len's smile turned into a frown at spotting the gun in Barry's hands, voice going from what Barry had learned to read as friendly to cold and hard. It reminded Barry of the way Len had talked to Shawna earlier, and sent chills down his back.

"I'm not a child, I was just looking at it," Barry complained. Nevertheless, he walked back to carefully set the strange gun back down on the table, feeling like a chastised child and not liking it one bit. "I'm amnesiac, not _stupid_ , you know."

He could hear Len rustle around with the many bags, steps patting over into the kitchen. Barry followed, choosing to help put away the food but still giving Len a sullen look.

Len sighed. "I know. But it's not a toy. Not a regular gun, either."

"I noticed. It doesn't seem to be made for shooting bullets. Is it what you use as Captain Cold?" Barry asked, his curiosity outweighing the annoyance at being treated as if he wasn't an adult.

"Yes," Len answered, looking slightly surprised. Barry straightened up a bit more. He was still perfectly capable of reasonable conclusions, thank you very much. "It's called the cold gun. Built specifically to incapacitate and take out speedsters."

With Len's stern glance directed at him, Barry shuffled uncomfortably. Suddenly that look felt way too intense, way too reproachful, and Barry was once more feeling as if he'd played with something he shouldn't have touched.

Len eventually looked away again, focus shifting from Barry to a carton of eggs. "Wouldn't want you to get hurt," the man muttered, face turned to the fridge.

"Yeah, sure. Sorry," Barry mumbled, fingers playing with a pack of oranges nervously. He shouldn't have gotten annoyed. Len was just _worried_ for him. And yet—somehow he couldn't help but feel as if Len wasn't telling him all there was to this.

But weird, likely unfounded suspicions wouldn't help him now, he knew that. He only had Len around, and Len was doing so much to help him. It felt wrong and ungrateful to suspect the man of any foul play.

"So, I was thinking, and—what about my job?" He started on a different topic. "I mean, I can't stay away without excuse, right? I'd get fired. And then be without money, on top of having no memory. Which doesn't sound too good, honestly, and I'll have to pay you back, too, for the clothes and the phone and everything else. Probably the food as well if I always eat that much, but I can't give you anything if I'm out of a job and money and—oh my god, I don't remember my PIN, I don't remember my passwords for anything, and I can't answer my security questions, either, not like this—"

"Barry," Len cut into his rambling, placing a hand on Barry's wrist. Barry audibly snapped his mouth shut. "Don't worry. We'll figure it out."

"But—", Barry started again, only to be cut off once more by Len squeezing his wrist, moving closer.

" _Chill_ ," Len said, voice calm and slow and actually helping Barry to relax a little, the corner of Len's mouth twitching up for a second. "Don't worry. You don't have to pay me back. Help me out with a heist or two, we're all good. Amnesia is special circumstances, I'm sure you can get your job back. If not, you can always work with me full time."

Len was grinning now, and Barry couldn't help but feel like this wasn't the best idea. "Become a criminal for good?" he spelled it out, cautiously. It sounded _wrong_ to him. "I don't know, Len. I wouldn't be able to go back to my old job, and maybe not my family or my old life at all. I don't want to lose all of that—more than I already have, anyway."

To his relief, Barry couldn't see any trace of irritation on Len's face at being turned down. The man simply took a step back, hand letting go of Barry's wrist and instead snatching up the oranges. "No problem, kid. But if it makes you feel any better, when we—pulled off stuff, you didn't enter the limelight. If you ever decide to sign on, _really_ sign on, you're more than welcome to use your speed, but you don't have to. We don't need any more attention than necessary, and the Flash proves that speedsters only run into difficulties."

Barry nodded, smiling with relief. "Thanks, Len. I promise, I'll make this up to you. I'll—Was that just a pun?"

The proud grin Len gave him could only mean one thing. Barry groaned.

"God, that was a terrible one."

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

They spent the rest of the day mostly in companionable silence. Len already had clothes stashed in the bedroom facing the stairs head-on, which left the other one to Barry. It had two windows out towards the street and Barry wasn't going to complain, especially not after taking some time to settle in with all his new stuff. Namely the clothes Len had gotten him, as he didn't have anything else.

He played around with the cellphone Len had gotten him for a bit, but it wasn't nearly as nice as the room. It was old and only had three games, but Barry appreciated the thought. It had Len's number saved, so he would be able to contact the other man should it ever become necessary. It made him feel a lot better, to know that he'd be able to rely on someone, but also raised some questions. Like for example, why he hadn't been carrying around his old cell, before the amnesia. Maybe it hadn't fit into the odd suit? But then where had he left it behind? He kind of wanted it back. It had to have all his contacts and a calendar with appointments, and music he liked before, and so much more. A tiny piece of Barry Allen, version 1.0. But then again, he couldn't remember the code for it, so even having the phone with him wouldn't help him much.

The second laptop Len had brought was also Len's. As in, not a present for Barry. But Len had brought it so Barry would be able to look things up, while Len was working on the other one. Something Barry spent hours on, curled up on the couch and occasionally looking over the backrest to glance at Len's back, hunched over at the table.

As far as he knew, Len was looking into things to steal. Something small, he'd promised Barry, since the amnesia was a new factor in all of this. Still, the thought of stealing didn't sit right with Barry. But Len had spent so much money just on getting Barry the bare necessities alone, clothes and food and a toothbrush and the like... With crime being Len's only source of income, Barry supposed he could hardly forbid him from it.

He felt bad, though. He didn't like the thought of taking something from someone else, especially not by force. And Len might be good at this, really good—Barry had tried looking up 'Leonard Snart' on the internet and not found anything—but what if they got caught? And there not being any records on Leonard Snart didn't mean that his partners in crime always got away scot-free as well.

"Do you work with partners often?" Barry asked the other man when the question popped into his head. It would make sense. It was unlikely that of all the people in the world, Len would only ever work with Barry. He'd need the assistance of others, every once in a while. Not only with planning, but also out there, actually stealing. A part of the operation Barry was firmly determined never to get involved in.

Len looked up, seeming a bit surprised by the unprompted question. "Sometimes. Worked with a lot of people over the years. Didn't always work out. There are a few—favorites."

"Really? Like who?" Barry straightened up, getting curious now.

Len shrugged, quiet for a moment before answering. "Things changed since the Flash. It's not just about stealing anymore. There are certain parties, with powers and intentions, and then there's _him_. Need to account for him before you can do anything. Got a bit of a team, _friends_ if you so want. Also Shawna, for medical assistance. And you."

"I count as part of your criminal association?" Barry asked, tone half-joking. He didn't really like to think that he'd been that deep into crime before. But he couldn't remember what had driven him to do that, so of course he wouldn't understand those choices now. Right? Besides, it was nice to know at least a little about who he'd been before.

"You were quite involved at times," Len answered, grinning slightly. "Didn't know anyone but me, though. Didn't want to let too many people find out about you moonlighting as a criminal genius."

"Yeah, I can see that. Working for the police and against them at the same time..." Barry trailed off. It felt more like the plot of a movie than his life. _'Cop at day, criminal at night'_ —with someone at the police and a criminal liaison both wooing for his love to top it off. Sounded like something worth watching, but he couldn't imagine actually _living_ it.

Len didn't answer anymore, probably focusing on the upcoming theft again, and Barry went back to his own research. Thinking about helping Len commit a crime made him uneasy, but he felt even worse when he looked up himself and his work at the CCPD. It was only then that he found out that his foster father was a detective there, his foster sister being an investigative reporter for the CCPN.

With a family like that, what the hell had motivated Barry to become accomplice to a crime? And it really didn't make his current living with a career criminal look any better.

He sighed. There were other things, too, that bothered him. Most prominent of all being Iris, his—sort-of sister, he supposed. He wasn't exactly sure how to put it, not even in his own thoughts, but—well. To make it short, she was beautiful. The making-his-heart-beat-fast and belly-full-of-butterflies sort of beautiful.

 _God_ , what was wrong with him for feeling that way about his _sister_ , just because he'd forgotten growing up alongside her? Adoptive or not, this couldn't be right.

Maybe they hadn't been all that close, sibling-wise—really, really not close, and really, really not considering each others siblings. But who was he kidding? He'd spent 15 years living with the Wests, more than half his life. It seemed very unlikely to him that he'd had anything but brotherly feelings for Iris.

He wondered if Len knew anything about that. Maybe Barry had told him about his foster sister at some point? But when he looked over to the table, Len wasn't there anymore. He had to have left at some point before or during Barry's inner meltdown about his inappropriate feelings.

There weren't many places to go, though, so after confirming that Len wasn't in the kitchen, Barry went upstairs, hoping that the other man would be in his room. Which he wasn't.

Barry let his gaze wonder over everything, the bed, desk and chair, closet and shelves filled with books. No sign of Len, though. Barry closed the door, not wanting to intrude or pry, but before he could go back down, the door to the bathroom opened and Len stepped out.

A small part of Barry's mind, the scientific analytical one, took in Len's shirtless chest, the open pants, and the dry skin and hair, arriving at the conclusion that Len had most likely just been about to shower.

A significantly larger portion, however, was too busy _staring_. And admiring. _Shamelessly_.

Barry couldn't call on any memories of other naked men he'd seen before—aside from himself, and he was certainly no comparison—but he could still tell that Len was good-looking. Defined abs and pecs and arms that made him want to curse all of Len's long-sleeved shirts, and scars both faded and new, scattered in between tattoos stretching all over Len's skin—

Barry's scientific mind contributed that he was definitely into all of that, definitely into men, and definitely into Len in particular. The rest of him was trying very hard not to drool.

"You need something?" Len asked, and Barry felt a red-hot flush rush up to his cheeks, realizing how blatantly he'd been staring.

He took a step back, brushing his hand over his cheek as if it could somehow wipe away his embarrassment. "N-No, no, sorry. I didn't mean to— I wanted to ask you something, but it was silly anyway, and I shouldn't have— I don't. I mean. Nothing needed, no. I'm good. Fine. I'll— I'll go now. Leave you to your—shower."

He turned around, not catching the way the corner of Len's mouth quirked up into a smirk, hurriedly fleeing back downstairs.

"Call if you need anything," he heard Len call after him, grateful that there wasn't any anger for being ogled in the man's tone, and nodding in response before his brain supplied that Len couldn't possibly see that.

"Thanks," he called, voice catching in his throat.

He sunk down on the couch, groaning. First his sister, now the guy who took him in? What the hell was wrong with him?!

And staring so much— he was lucky Len didn't seem to mind. The mere thought of being watched that long himself made him cringe, want to curl up and hide. Maybe he should do just that—hide so he wouldn't have to face Len again after the shower. Very faintly he could hear the water start up upstairs, and he wondered what Len would look like, wet and relaxed, if he had the same kind of tattoos on his back as well, if his thighs were equally muscled—

He groaned again, scrubbing his hands over his face. At least now he knew a bit more about himself—his type was _kind, good-looking people who he lived with and definitely shouldn't have that kind of feelings for_. Great.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

By the time Len returned from his shower, Barry had managed to get his mind out of the gutter. Mostly. Unfortunately, the sight of Len, hair just a bit wet and otherwise dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, was apparently enough to make him blush again.

He wondered if he should apologize for staring, but that would mean openly admitting to doing it. And he was sure that Len had noticed, but still— denial was so much better.

"Had fun while I was away?" Len greeted him, a teasing undertone to his voice.

Barry grunted, not wanting to deign the jab with a response and glaring at his knees instead of the other man. Len might be the hottest person Barry could remember ever lying eyes on, but his only competition were Barry himself, Shawna and a few pictures of family Barry had found on the internet. So it didn't count, really.

After a tense moment of silence, he could hear Len sigh, then walk off. Startled, Barry looked up. Was Len upset after all, should Barry apologize, share his totally not ridiculous explanation for why he'd been staring—

But before he could get up, Len returned, holding a red mug in his hand. It seemed to be empty, though, and that didn't make any sense.

"What are you doing with that?" Barry asked, feeling cautious as a small grin tugged at Len's lips.

"Remember the keys when you didn't believe me about your speed?"

"Yes...?" Barry answered, getting an idea what Len might be planning and at the same time hoping that he was wrong. Still, taking cover behind the back pillows of the couch seemed like a good idea right now. Len wouldn't... "You don't plan on throwing that at my face, do you? Because I really am sorry about staring, I swear I didn't mean to—"

"Relax, it's fine," Len said, Barry raising his brows in disbelief at what he really hoped _wasn't_ a pun related to Len's supervillain name. The next moment, Len grinned even wider, throwing the mug up into the air. "Catch."

Barry could see the mug flying up, worrying for a moment that it might shatter against the ceiling before he'd even be able to do anything, and then it slowed down for the fraction of a second before dropping back down to the floor.

Realizing that this was the part where he needed to do something if he wanted to actually catch the stupid thing, he lunged forward. He could see the mug falling down, seeming to slow down, looking more like a balloon floating down than a solid object dropping to the ground. Jumping over the back pillows wasn't as easy as Barry would have hoped, the soft cushions making a terrible support to push off of. Barry staggered at coming down to the ground, feeling like he was tumbling forward more than running, eyes fixed to the mug steadily closing in on the floor.

He leaned forward as far as he dared, fingers slipping into the mug and pulling it along with him, inches before it collided with the ground. He didn't have a good grip on it, though, and felt himself leaning too far forward, completely out of balance. And as if that wasn't bad enough already, he realized with a sudden jolt that he had no idea how to slow down and that there were only seconds—milliseconds? Less?— _steps_ left until he would inevitably crash into the wall with a speed much faster than any human being should ever have on their own.

He wrenched his upper body back up, tried to make his steps larger, somehow get his feet in front of him to brake, tried to turn around at the same time, arm moving up out of reflex to protect his head.

He could feel his shoulder impact first, seeing the wall come closer to him out of the corner of his eye, before suddenly the world was back to normal speed, all air pushed out of his lungs as he crashed into something much more sold than him, shoulder, head, and back of his left side hurting from the impact.

He coughed, blinking through the pain which wasn't so bad anymore after a few seconds. He could make out the mug, clutching it at an odd angle in his right hand. At least it hadn't shattered. Having to deal with cuts and glass shards would have been a lot more painful than just a few bruises.

Next thing he knew, there were legs in his field of vision, someone crouching down in front of him.

"You'll have to work on that some more," Len remarked calmly, earning himself an angry glare from Barry.

"How about some warning next time?" he asked, not feeling very amicable with the way his shoulder was stinging. It felt weird to have Len crouching in front of him like this, with him lying on the floor. For just a moment, it felt familiar in the oddest way, the cold ground beneath him, his body aching, the blue parka looking almost black with the lack of light—

Barry blinked, and the odd image was gone. Now that was strange. He picked himself up off the floor, keeping a bit of distance between himself and Len as he did, placing the mug on the table. He rubbed his shoulder, sullenly glaring at Len. " _Ow_."

"Don't look at me like that, Barry. You must have had some control over your powers before. Think about how many things you could do if you regained that control," Len said in lieu of an apology.

Barry stuck out his tongue. "I don't think catching mugs will be all that important in my near future."

Len's annoying grin didn't look the least bit diminished by Barry's grumpiness. Instead, Len took a step closer, prompting Barry to take one back in return. "True enough," Len said, voice drawling in a way Barry felt like he knew. It sent a shiver down his spine for reasons he couldn't quite explain, familiar in the same strange way as their position just moments ago.

Len's gaze, smirk, posture, everything seemed different now—unlike the Len Barry knew, but there was something else, some _one_ else, pushing at the very back of his mind—

"Good thing that's not all you can do, because I've found something for us to steal," Len hummed, pulling his attention back to the moment.

Barry felt a shudder run through his body, leaving an odd tingling feeling behind. Felt his heartbeat speed up, felt for some weird reason like he should run away—he knew him, from somewhere, he _knew_ —

"Barry?" Len asked after a moment of silence, and Barry shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. His head hurt, which made sense after crashing into the wall, but he didn't like it. Didn't like how it made him feel, the way weird images blurred into what he was seeing.

"Y-Yeah," he got out after a moment, pressing his palm against his temple. The pain was slowly ebbing away, Len's face coming back into focus. "I'm fine, sorry. You were saying?"

Len seemed to hesitate for a moment, reaching out, hand hovering over Barry's shoulder before settling there, feeling warm and comforting. Len's brows pulled together, going up slightly, and Barry had already learned that Len wasn't all that expressive, that this had to be Len's _worried_ expression.

"Alright. But you can tell me if anything comes up. If you remember anything. I'm here to help—we're friends, after all." Len's voice was back to the calmer, softer tone Barry had gotten used to. It helped him relax and he smiled gratefully in response.

"Thanks, Len. That means a lot," he muttered, leaning forward a little. The weird urge to run was gone, his headache as well, and even the pain in his shoulder was receding steadily—oddly fast, but maybe it was a side effect of his powers. Though having a super speed and not being able to use it properly sure was frustrating...

Barry sighed. He'd just have to practice. And there were always other things to keep him occupied in the meantime—like repaying Len for all his help.

"So, you said you found something we could—steal?" He stumbled a bit over the last word, but couldn't help but smile when a pleased grin spread over Len's face. Seeing his friend so content helped ease the nagging worry in the pit of his stomach.

And yet— Len looked so _smug_. As if he had _already_ stolen something of incredible worth. It felt so utterly misplaced in their situation, and Barry wanted to help his friend, he really _did_ — but he also couldn't ignore his unease, the small shiver of worry running down his spine.


	4. Who He Is and Isn't

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got kind of long, so I decided to cut it into two parts. So no new people show up, you'll have to wait until next chapter for that. Which should be up soon since it's mostly done, just need to work out a few small details. Which I will hopefully do after making myself work on the report I need to hand in soon... Well.
> 
>  **Warning:** Dissociation in this chapter. Just in case you're sensitive to that or having an off day, you might want to stop reading once the fire is mentioned. I'll put in a short summary of what happens in the end notes.
> 
> With that said, happy reading!

"No," Barry said resolutely, for what felt like the hundredth time.

" _Barry_ ," Len replied, tone beseeching, as if he were making an obvious, irrefutable point and Barry was just refusing to see reason.

Which was _not_ what was happening. If Barry had known what an uncaring bastard Len was, he wouldn't have agreed to helping with planning this heist.

At first, his biggest worry had been _what_ Len might choose to steal, and what kind of measures there would be to prevent that. As it had turned out, that wasn't too much of an issue.

A collection of jewelry—a unique set, not many pieces, but worth a lot of money because of the sheer amount of diamonds crammed into a necklace, a ring, and a set of earrings—not to mention that whoever made it had died shortly thereafter, making the set truly 'one of its kind'. Barry had no idea how, but Len had found out that it was to be transported from a private vault to an auction, and in order not to draw undue attention, the protective entourage should be small.

 _Should_ being the operative word.

There seemed to be some kind of protocol to these kinds of things, a how-to the police generally stuck to. Working for the police himself, Len assumed that Barry should know who and how and when and where and how many would be guarding the transport.

 _Should_.

Because, big surprise there, Barry _didn't_ know, he had _amnesia_.

"Shawna said you remember general facts. How police guard a transport like this is general knowledge," Len argued, as if that would somehow change what Barry did and didn't remember.

The real problem was most likely that Len wasn't unreasonable. He'd leave it alone if Barry could actually outright tell him that he didn't know. The tricky part was, he wasn't _sure_. His memory felt like a Wikipedia article on a lagging PC, sometimes slow and then processing all at once, some parts showing up and others simply not, some making sense, some not. He could regurgitate bare facts, like how many officers there were at the CCPD, but not their names. Knew where the archives and labs were at the precinct, but not where he worked or how they looked. It was frustrating beyond belief and gave him quite the headache. Len pushing him to _dig_ wasn't helping one bit.

"You said standard procedure would be to have three to five men there, max. Nondescript car, two there, one or two in another car following, maybe someone in the back of the first car," Len repeated what Barry had been able to tell him earlier.

Barry gnashed his teeth. "I _did_ , but I'm not _sure_. There might be more, or less. They might have changed procedure. Or use a different protocol. Then you'd be in trouble."

"This isn't my first heist, kid. I'd have to take out a few more of them, but they wouldn't be able to catch me," Len laid down, for probably the third time in the last ten minutes, and just like every time before, Barry protested that idea.

"But then a lot of people would get hurt! My _co-workers_ would get hurt. My foster father might be there!"

"They're cops, they have to deal with criminals, even metas sometimes. They'll live."

"They're my _friends and family_ , Len!"

"They could be complete assholes. Not like you'd remember."

"They still wouldn't deserve to get hurt!" Barry argued, frowning at the man sitting across from him on the couch. "Especially not with that gun of yours. If it's supposed to take down the Flash, it has to cause some pretty terrible damage to a normal person. How can you be such a good thief with pretty much no record at all, if 'taking them out' is your idea of a contingency plan?"

Len was looking annoyed as well, brows drawn together. And while Barry didn't like arguing with the man who had done nothing but helping him so far, it was simply _wrong_ to let him hurt other people for personal gain.

"It's _not_ usually my MO," Len grunted. "My plans account for everything. _This one_ doesn't because it's relying on your memory, which is currently _lacking_."

"Well, sorry me not remembering my _own life_ is so detrimental to your criminal career!" Barry hissed. His nerves were wearing thin, and he really hoped they would settle this soon. "I can see how I could usually help you with this, knowing the actual details, knowing the _people_ personally and what to expect of them, but right now I _can't_ , okay? I can't even tell you things about _myself_ , much less anyone else I knew before."

Len sighed deeply, rolling his shoulders and giving Barry an exhausted look. "I _know_ , Barry. But you know more than you realize. You say you don't know how to do your job, but you still remember all the methods, the background, the details. It should work the same way with this."

Barry made an unhappy noise and flopped against the backrest. "But it _doesn't_! I—"

He broke off, closing his eyes. His headache was getting worse again, and while he wanted to remember, this didn't feel like the right way to do it. He also didn't want to have weird images pop up in his mind, like earlier. For some strange reason, those had made him feel wary of Len, but Len was his _friend_. Len was helpful and nice and also the only one he actually currently _knew_. Paranoia wasn't conductive right now.

"I don't think I can help you, Len. I'm sorry," he muttered, voice dejected. He didn't like the thought of stealing or hurting people, but disappointing Len and being disappointed by his own memory, that stung as well.

Len didn't answer for some time. Barry was just starting to hope that this talk was finally over, when the other man spoke up again. "Different approach, then."

Barry gave Len an exasperated look. What else did he have to do to make himself clear? But Len went on, unperturbed by his lack of enthusiasm.

"In what ways do the cops deviate from procedure in a scenario like this?"

Barry's lagging memory stuttered. He wasn't sure, but— "They don't always take it seriously... I think?"

"In what ways?" Len perked up, looking interested now. Like they were finally getting somewhere.

"Uhm..." Barry frowned. His headache was getting worse when he was thinking so intensely about this. It felt like he was running against a wall in his brain, scraping tiny bits of knowledge off it. And it was all the more frustrating that it seemed to work—at least a little—for this, but not for actually important things, like memories of his family and friends.

"I'm—not sure. It's protocol, nothing ever really happens, so people tend to—slack off. Let civilian cars get in between, even when they're not supposed to. Let whatever they're supposed to guard lie in the back, when it's supposed to be front—watched. And—" He trailed off, chewing on his lower lip, then shaking his head. "I can't remember anything else. I—I just know there's _more_."

"'s okay. That's already very useful information, Barry," Len answered, giving him a warm smile. It looked a bit out of place on Len's face, but Barry was just happy that he'd been able to help. And that the questioning was _over_ now.

"Okay," he muttered, then added with a hopeful look, "so that means you won't hurt any cops?"

Len rolled his eyes, sighing deeply. Barry knew that he was pushing this, but he wasn't going to back down. Not in this point.

"I'll work around it. Lots of contingencies, no one getting hurt. And you'll leave me alone for it. Happy?"

"Very," Barry answered, a wide grin stretching over his face. He got up from the couch, heading for the kitchen. "For that, I'll even share my food with you."

"You just ate three hours ago," Len remarked, looking slightly disbelieving. But he could hardly keep Barry from eating.

Though, Len thought to himself, knowing that Barry needed this much food to keep going—at least that was something he could keep in mind. Something to use against the Flash later on.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Barry didn't sleep well that night. It was ridiculous, but even without memory the bed, the room, and everything else felt too _foreign_. It had been easier, the night before, because he'd been hurt and exhausted. But now...

Now he was curled up on a nice mattress, with a soft pillow and blanket, comfortably warm and tired, too. But it still felt _wrong_. Like missing a thousand things that he needed desperately, but couldn't even remember.

For a moment, he'd considered going to Len, voicing his worries and concerns. Len had said he'd always be there to listen, after all. And they were friends. But Barry already felt like a burden, like a _child_ , not knowing so many things, always having to ask, sitting around at home and not even able to buy groceries. Len telling him not to "play" with the gun had just been icing on the cake, and the older man constantly calling him _kid_ didn't help matters, either.

Especially not since Barry didn't see Len as a father figure of any sort. Len was his friend, first and foremost. A very good friend and also his only one. Barry wondered if maybe they'd been even more, before the amnesia. Usually friends didn't just invite the other to live with them, right? Maybe Len just hadn't wanted to risk anything, and thus decided to stick with 'friend' instead of 'boyfriend' or 'partner' or anything like that.

But then again, theirs were special circumstances, and this was probably just wishful thinking on his part. He didn't even know if Len was into men at all. And maybe he didn't even really have a crush on Len. It was probably just his confused mind, trying to make sense of things, clinging to the only person he _knew_. Len was nice and Len was hot, but Barry couldn't just up and assume that he was crushing on Len because of that.

Making an unhappy noise, Barry pushed the blanket down. He felt warm, way too warm, and the headache was still lingering. Probably from him overthinking everything and not getting any _sleep_ despite being tired.

He flopped over onto his stomach, pulling the pillow closer. No more overthinking things tonight. He was a grown man, he could figure out his love life tomorrow. When the image of Len without shirt wasn't floating through his mind anymore, distracting him.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

It didn't come as a big surprise to Barry that he felt tired the next day. Even with super speed and super fast metabolism, he still needed more sleep than an hour or four, obviously.

It didn't help things that he was also bored out of his mind. Len was planning the heist, procuring more information through ways Barry wasn't sure he wanted to know more about, working out details and more. Barry on the other hand was lying on the couch, watching TV and eating a lot. Feeling utterly useless.

He read through most books in the house in the span of a few hours. Apparently, super fast reading was also one of his skills. And not nearly as dangerous as running around, saving mugs.

He took a bath, concluding that he quite enjoyed that, even though Len's assortment of shampoo and body wash was sorely lacking. To his relief, there was no repeat of yesterday's incident with reversed roles. But that wasn't exactly surprising, after all Len wasn't dependent on Barry, whereas Barry wouldn't even have a place to live without the other man.

But despite that negative thinking, Barry felt a lot more relaxed after the bath and decided to learn more about the world as it currently was. There was only so much he could find out about his family on the internet—and one of these days he'd have to actually talk to them—but for now he chose to stick to more general matters.

He found out that he could follow the news quite well, knowing background information to all the current issues. It irked him, that he could recall stuff about smog in megacities but not what his father looked or sounded like. But he supposed it was better than knowing nothing.

He was just about to turn off the TV and bug Len to talk to him for once, when a new report on a local channel caught his attention.

"—interrupting the current program. A fire has broken out in an apartment building close to the city center. Police and fire department are just arriving at the scene, trying to evacuate the tenants and prevent the fire from reaching the other floors—"

Barry's eyes were fixed to the screen. There was video footage of the scene, and though Barry couldn't remember ever being there, he _knew_ that street, knew the building and where it was. But even stranger, for some reason he also really felt like he needed to _go_ there. Not in the forensic scientist sense, to head there later and ascertain evidence, but _right now_ , to _help_.

Before he'd really realized it, he'd already gotten up, feeling a weird sort of tingling running through his body. Then suddenly a hand wrapped around his wrist, snapping him out of—whatever that just had been.

He blinked, feeling oddly out of touch with himself. Then looked at the hand on his wrist, gaze following the arm until he was looking at Len's face, who was giving him a concerned look.

Barry fidgeted, not knowing what to say. "I need to..." He started, gesturing towards the TV where the reporter was still talking about the efforts of local authorities to contain the fire, of people still on the upper floors of the building, trapped. He gave Len a pleading look, not really sure what it was that he wanted to do right now, but knowing that he needed to do _something_.

Len gave him a stern frown, making Barry shrink in on himself. "'Need to' _what_ , Barry? You're no fireman. No hero, either. You wouldn't have gone there before."

"But—I can do something. I can _help_. I just need to—" He wasn't exactly sure what he needed to do, seeing as he couldn't control his super speed and otherwise wasn't more equipped to handle that situation than any other average person. But before he could come up with an idea, Len squeezed his wrist, pulling him closer.

"No," Len told him, voice firm and decisive. Barry frowned, pulling back. He was back to feeling like a child, being told _no_ by their parent. He didn't like it. This wasn't _like_ that.

"Len, I know I can—I have to—I can't remember, but I know I need to _be_ there, I can't just ignore this—"

"You're not going," Len cut him off, and Barry bristled at that, trying to pull his hand back from Len's grip, but Len was already dragging him back to the TV, pointing at the screen. "Look," he growled, voice sharp and authoritative enough that Barry actually complied.

"—the fire now contained and no longer spreading. There have been three reported cases of severe injury, all already being transported to the hospital, and no deaths so far. According to the CCFD, the fire should be extinguished in half an hour at most—"

Barry kept listening to the report, fingers twitching nervously. He could feel Len letting go of his wrist—slowly, as if Barry might still bolt at any given moment.

"See?" Len asked, voice sounding way closer than Barry had noticed the other man coming. "Situation's contained. Everyone's fine. You don't have to go and help them. No reason to."

Barry nodded. Slowly.

Somehow, he felt numb. Out of touch with the world, out of touch with _himself_. As if nothing was quite real. He could still hear the reporter, see the images playing on the screen, and tried to tell himself that Len was right.

Of course Len was right. Barry wasn't a firefighter. And no hero, either. He wasn't able to control his powers, and despite knowing where the building was located, he had no idea how to actually get there. And he'd have no idea what to do once there. It also made sense that he wouldn't have gone there before the amnesia.

He could barely take care of himself, let alone save other people. So why did it feel so wrong, why did he feel so useless and hollow, why did he feel like he'd _failed_ , standing here and hearing that everyone was safe?

Everything was okay. The fire being contained was good. Everyone getting out of there alive was good. He wasn't needed there, Len was right. Staying here, when he couldn't have done anything, was the right choice. So why did it feel so _wrong_?

"Barry?"

He sucked in a shuddering breath, turning around to Len. Who was standing next to him, _right_ next to him, his chest almost touching Barry's arm, and looking concerned.

Barry couldn't answer, mouth trying to form words that his mind wasn't providing. He wasn't needed. He had no reason to go there. Why did he feel like he had to go there? Why did he feel so wrong?

"Barry," Len said again, voice a bit louder this time, but at the same time softer. Barry could feel Len's hand on his back, could feel himself being turned around to face the other directly. "Hey. Look at me."

Barry felt light-headed and heavy at the same time. As if there was cotton in his brain. His eyes felt wet. His hands like they didn't really belong to him. He didn't know where to put them. Didn't know where to look. There were so many points on Len's face. Nose and mouth and chin and brows and left cheek and ear and temple—

"Barry. Hey." Len's voice again. Sharp enough that Barry's gaze snapped to his lips. But no, that was wrong. That wasn't where one was supposed to look during a conversation. He slowly looked up. Settled on light blue eyes, which were staring at him intently. There were hands resting on his shoulders.

Barry blinked a few times. He didn't know what Len wanted from him. Why was Len staring like that? There was something churning in his chest, deep and cold and wrong. His heart was racing and his breath coming out too fast. He felt out of place. He wanted it to stop.

He registered Len squeezing his shoulders, and yet it felt like Len was doing it to someone else. Heard his name being said again and squinted his eyes shut. Everything felt _wrong_ and he didn't want to have to deal with this anymore. It was too much. Len kept talking and Barry could hardly focus enough to follow the words, let alone answer.

He could feel hands gripping his face, turning his head like a puppet's. Turning it to look at Len, who was wearing a complicated expression, too complicated for Barry to decipher right now.

Len's voice was so loud. Too loud. And upset. _Worried_. Barry felt like this was the part where he was supposed to react. Tell Len that he was fine. But he couldn't open the mouth in his face. He felt so slow, dizzy somehow. Felt like he was floating above himself, losing contact with his own body—

Suddenly, there was a stinging pain in his cheek. Barry scrambled back, startled, feeling like he'd just been pulled out of deep water.

"What the hell, Len?!" He demanded, hand going up to his hurting cheek. Had Len just _slapped_ him?

" _Finally_ ," Len breathed, moving forward but stopping when he saw Barry's angry expression.

Barry was still glaring at him, but also took in his surroundings. He was on the couch. When had he gotten on the couch? He'd been standing, looking at the TV—which was now turned off.

"You didn't react anymore. Didn't know what else to try." Len's voice was rough, a strange sound to it that Barr couldn't remember hearing before. Barry sure hoped it was guilt—amnesia or not, he was not going to stay here a moment longer if Len didn't have an extremely good reason for slapping him.

"What just happened?" Barry asked, frowning still. "I felt bad— _wrong_ —and then suddenly things just—got strange."

"Don't know," Len admitted, sitting down on the couch but keeping a bit of distance from Barry. Barry wasn't sure if it made him feel better or worse. "Think you might've been dissociating. Or panicking. Don't know. Sent a text to Shawna to confirm."

"Huh," Barry muttered. He curled in on himself, hands rubbing up and down his upper arms. His cheek was still stinging, but now it felt difficult to be upset about that.

"I'm sorry," Len muttered. Barry had a feeling that Len wasn't a person who said _sorry_ a lot. That had to mean that Len was feeling really, really bad about this, as far as he could tell. Had to be about slapping him. Nothing else would make sense, since Len wasn't the one responsible for Barry's amnesia or any resulting issues.

"It's fine," Barry mumbled, sinking deeper in on himself. "It's not your fault. Thanks for helping me snap out of it."

There was a moment of silence between them. Barry could practically feel Len looking at him, as if to check that Barry was still there. Mentally.

"You did help people. Before," Len said eventually. Barry looked up, feeling confused at the sudden change of topic. Len looked conflicted, in a way Barry couldn't quite understand. "Not a hero. Not like the Flash. But—you cared. Always tried your best to help people. Trusted them. Even if it wasn't the smart choice."

Barry blinked, not quite understanding where Len was going with this. But it eased the tight knot in his chest, and he was grateful to Len for that. For being there for him. For helping, and being his friend.

"Thanks," he murmured, quietly.

Len just nodded, face tight. Barry wasn't sure, but it looked as if Len was angry, deep down. Then Len got up and left the room, not coming back for the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Summary:** (in case I'm not just overly worried and someone out there's not stubborn enough to just read through what they know will upset them, the way I always do)  
>  Upon hearing of the fire, Barry feels a strong pull to go there and help, though he doesn't really understand why. Len tells him that, being no hero, Barry wouldn't have gone there before. As they hear on the news, the situation is resolved just fine by the CCFD and CCPD. Despite knowing that there should be nothing worrying him, Barry feels off and dissociates more and more. Len tries talking to and touching him and, failing that, slaps Barry, which helps Barry come back to himself somewhat. Len apologizes, tells Barry that he would have helped before actually, then leaves the room.
> 
> Now, since slapping someone is hardly the best way to help them while dissociating, they're going to have to address that at a later point.  
> But not next chapter, there you can look forward to Barry remembering something (a little. Sort of. Maybe.) and someone else showing up.


	5. Zoom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Zoom doesn't even actually show up in this chapter. I just needed a dramatic title :'D

Len was—not happy. Things weren't going according to plan. They were so far off from anything resembling a plan that Len was honestly starting to wonder if he shouldn't just dump Barry in front of STAR Labs and then drive off and go into deep hiding for the next few months. Or years, depending on how angry the speedster would be once he found out the truth.

Barry wasn't as much of a help as Len had hoped, unable to remember much about his work with the police. There were _some_ things, sure, and certainly not useless. But it wasn't enough by far to make up for all the risks he was taking.

He'd gotten a text from Mick, informing him that Firestorm seemed to be flying over the city a lot over the past few days. Mick was, of course, quite delighted at the fact, but Len was sure that the other hero was looking for the Flash. If they found Barry, here, with him, he'd be in for a lot of trouble. Not to mention if Barry _remembered_.

Using Barry's speed also wasn't an option, the experiment with the mug had proven that without a doubt. Maybe with a bit of training... But the longer he kept Barry around, the more he made him try to remember certain things, to _relearn_ , the greater the risk that Barry would remember Captain Cold. That would be bad.

Len was trying to prevent that, of course. Telling Barry that he wasn't the Flash, wasn't a hero, had seemed like a reasonable thing to do. It had _worked_. But now the episode this afternoon—Len's lies seemed to have a very adverse effect on Barry's psyche, way more so than he'd anticipated. Barry feeling a bit confused, a bit strange? Sure. But a full-blown dissociative episode, not reacting anymore until Len slapped him? That wasn't part of the plan. Not anywhere close to one.

Shawna had texted him about that, saying that from what Len wrote, Barry dissociating seemed to be the most likely explanation for what had happened. Probably brought on by extreme distress. With Barry still being a hero, a genuinely good person, and Len telling him he wasn’t, it wasn't hard to guess where that distress had come from.

And of course Shawna was appalled at Len slapping Barry to snap him out of it, told him that apparently, he might as well have made things a lot worse. For the next time, her recommendation was to try sitting Barry down. Gentle touches and easy conversation and waiting it out. No slapping. If Len didn't lose his cool the next time Barry was staring at him with an empty gaze, not reacting to anything, he would try to go with that. There, at least a bit of a plan.

The truth was, even now, hours later, he felt as if his palm was still stinging. And despite knowing that it couldn't have left a permanent mark on Barry's—the Flash's— _Barry's_ cheek, despite knowing that it had helped Barry snap out of that terrifying state, he still felt like he shouldn't have.

Guilty.

They were enemies, sure. But Len wasn't without emotion. Barry was helpless, relying on Len for everything and trusting him blindly. Not out of naivety like before, but because Len had taken advantage of the situation and told him to. Repaying that trust by causing lasting damage to Barry's mental health—

He wasn't his father. He wouldn't _do_ that to a person depending on him.

Not to mention how angry Barry would be if he found out what Len had done. If Len were to suffer through an identity conflict like that and then find out that someone he'd trusted was responsible, he'd be furious. He'd make that one suffer. No forgiveness, no excuses. It'd be too personal, it'd be bloody—

Barry might not go quite that far, probably would be too good at heart, but still, Len doubted he'd get off easy.

At this point, after seeing Barry stare off into nothing, showing obvious signs of distress and yet not reacting, hollow and empty and receding back into his mind because of the suffering Len had caused him— Len wasn't even sure if he deserved to get off easy.

Maybe—to be honest, quite likely—it really would be the best choice to deliver Barry back to his friends. Let them fix the damage, set Barry right again. Let Barry be the hero he was, always would be, even with Len trying to change that.

And yet, Len knew he wouldn't do that. The repercussions, by Barry's friends and fellow heroes and the Flash himself, would be _severe_.

It'd be bad for business, bad for him personally, and Len wasn't keen on that happening any time soon. It was too easy, too nice to imagine a scenario where he would sway Barry to his side, permanently. Or one where Barry would remember but forgive everything and they'd go back to the truce they had before. Or maybe even one where Barry didn't remember at all—

But Len wasn't a man to indulge pretty fantasies. With him steadily pushing Barry to remember useful details of his life, and with Barry trying to remember everything else, it was most likely only a matter of time until he'd find himself facing a furious speedster, hell-bent on revenge for all the lies Len had told him, all the damage he'd done.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Len didn't come back down for the rest of the day—hiding out in his room, who was the child between them now?—and Barry didn't like it one bit.

He felt abandoned and at the same time ridiculous for that. He was a grown man after all and being alone for a few hours shouldn't upset him that much. But he was sure that Len was struggling with something, and angry. The longer Len stayed away, the more it felt like it was Barry's fault somehow.

Had he done something wrong? He supposed that him losing his memory might have impacted Len's planning quite a lot. And taking him in like this couldn't have been easy. It had to cause a lot of trouble for Len. Having to stay around all day, since Barry was apparently incapable of handling himself. Now the dissociation or panic attack or whatever it had been—that was just further complicating things. Another burden Barry placed on Len, without being able to give anything back.

At least with how exhausted he felt from the day, Barry didn't have much time to think about things before falling asleep that night.

He dreamt of running. Running through a city he knew, a city he could remember. Every street, every corner, and every face familiar to him. He saw the faces of people who were his family as he ran by. They were alive, vivid and moving, not fixed like the pictures of them he'd seen and memorized. Henry and Joe and Iris, all smiling at him with friendly, welcoming expressions, and Barry felt like he _knew_ them.

But he kept running until he'd left them behind, all of them out of reach. A burning building came into sight, and Barry raced inside, getting people out, saving everyone. The image of a small girl with black hair and a pink shirt stuck with him for some reason. Everyone was safe, no one in need of a hospital, and it felt _good_.

"You're a hero, Barr'," someone said behind him, and Barry turned around, looking into Joe West's face. The scene around him shifted, the people and building gone, and suddenly there was Len next to him, wearing the black shirt and jeans from the day. He was holding a large diamond in one hand, the other holding the cold gun raised up to Joe West's head, finger on the trigger. Barry saw other policemen flicker up behind Joe West, all with their hands in the air.

Len held the diamond out for Barry to take, giving him a cold look. "You're no hero," he said, voice cold and smug with a sardonic lilt to it.

Barry took a step back, feeling his heart beat faster, suddenly knowing that Len wouldn't stick to his promise, would kill someone for sure. Hesitantly, Barry reached out and took the diamond from Len. "Please don't hurt anyone," he asked, hearing his voice crack with worry.

Len gave him a grin. Then he pulled the trigger, and despite his speed, Barry just stood there, clutching the diamond and watching on as the policemen were frozen, their skin turning blue. They fell to the ground, Joe West first, all of them shattering into small pieces. Barry looked down and saw the shards of the people he'd meant to protect, all dead now. His chest suddenly felt too tight, as if something was pushing down on it, keeping him from breathing.

The ground turned red. The diamond did, too, and Barry could feel his hands get warm and sticky. Felt sick to his stomach.

"You're a criminal now. A thief, and a murderer. You helped," Len told him, voice calm and composed. Barry shook his head, trying to deny it, but the red was still clinging to his hands.

"Run, Barry. _Run_. He's coming for you."

Suddenly, Shawna was popping up next to Len, out of thin air, her eyes wide and frightened as she looked at him. "He won't let you out. Never," she warned him, then both she and Len disappeared just as suddenly as she'd come.

Barry didn't understand, but did as he was told. He ran and ran and ran, diamond gone from his hands. He was all alone, feeling someone come closer, caught the image of a man in a red suit out of the corner of his eye, reflected in the glass of a window he came by.

He tried to run faster, to get away, but he wasn't fast enough. The Flash caught up, barreling into him and causing Barry to crash to the ground. Before he could do anything, he was pulled up by his neck. He took another look at the Flash, and suddenly the other speedster's suit was black, the lightning blue. Even his eyes were pitch-black, the man looking like an actual demon, like a living _nightmare_ , and it felt so _real_ all of a sudden—

Barry could feel pain as the other man hit him, over and over and so fast that even Barry couldn't tell the individual attacks apart anymore. He could feel his ribs cracking but couldn't scrape together the energy or speed necessary to fight back. He felt so helpless, almost grateful when the attacks finally stopped, and then the next moment, his spine was hit.

Pain exploded all over Barry's body, causing him to scream out, toppling to the ground, unable to think through the agony, unable to do anything. He couldn't feel his _legs_ anymore. With a sudden jolt he realized that he wasn't fast enough, wasn't strong enough, wouldn't be able to beat this guy. The man in the black suit was going to _kill_ him.

There was something pointed pushed into his chest, zapping his speed, taking all his remaining power. Barry could feel himself passing out, barely registering being dragged up again, and then—

A pitch-black, vibrating claw dug into his stomach and Barry choked out a breath, a distant part of his mind thinking that it was probably his last one. There was burning, searing agony in his stomach, his spine, he could feel wet sticky blood everywhere, felt his body slowly growing cold, his mind slipping into darkness—

Gasping, Barry shot up in his bed. He could feel cold sweat clinging to his body, looking around in panic until his mind caught up with reality. It had just been at dream—he was at Len's, he was safe.

Not dead.

He took in a shaky breath.

It had felt so _real_.

He could feel his fingers shaking, a weird tingling sensation, and when he looked down, they were blurring. _Vibrating_. Just like that demon's hand when it had pushed into his stomach—

Barry sucked in another sharp breath. Just a dream, he told himself. It was just a dream. A hellish nightmare, but nevertheless, _not real_.

Len had mentioned that there were other speedsters, besides him and the Flash, but... The Flash's suit was red. And there couldn't truly be a demonic creature like that. Right?

And even if there was—Barry wouldn't ever be fighting it. He was no hero. He didn't use his speed much. Len had _said_ so.

But despite trying to calm himself down, he couldn't stop shaking, couldn't stop the buzzing in his fingers, couldn't calm his breathing or heartbeat. Still felt the cold and pain and fear clinging to him, unable to shake it off.

Could still see blue lightning flicker through the room every time he closed his eyes.

But Len would be able to help, he was sure. Len had helped before. Barry swallowed, then forced himself to get up. It was difficult to focus, difficult to do anything with his body vibrating, and the world looked strange as he moved, as if it was all slowed down.

He skidded to a stop in Len's room, only then realizing that he must have moved fast, _very_ fast, and it scared him. He couldn't control his speed, didn't know how to stop—

" _Len_ ," he asked, flinching at the tone of his voice that sounded distorted, so very unlike his own.

But Len was sitting up, startled awake, and Len would help—

It almost felt as if the world was slowing down, as Barry watched Len reach out for the cold gun leaning against the bed, powering it up and aiming it at—him.

Barry stumbled back, blood rushing in his ears, the word around him standing still now—no, this couldn't be, this was _wrong_ —

Len was threatening to shoot him, with a gun built specifically to hurt speedsters like him, and it didn't make _sense_.

The gun was glowing blue and an icy chill seeped into Barry's body, _like death, like the dream, like the demon taking his speed, taking Barry's life—_

A shudder went through his body, a distressed noise slipping from his mouth. What was going on? Was he still dreaming? Was the nightmare not over yet?

He scrambled another step back, saw Len moving a little—still so incredibly slow. He didn't understand, but he was terrified, he wanted someone to talk to but Len was about to shoot him, and he needed to get _away_ from here—

Barry ran.

He ran, and it felt just like in his dream, but at the same time didn't. There was no Flash chasing him, no demon with a trail of blue lightning. Rationally. It still felt like they were. Barry still felt so _cold_.

He'd just wanted help. Someone to talk to, to help him calm down, and then suddenly Len had pointed that _thing_ at him, readying to shoot. Why would Len _attack_ him? Were they not _friends_? It was one of the few things he knew for sure, one of the few things he hadn't lost to the amnesia, and now suddenly it felt like it had been torn from him.

He choked down a whimper, noticed tears running down his cheeks, noticed the cold night air biting at his skin as he ran through streets that seemed familiar and strange all at once. He rushed through what looked like a coffee shop and came to a stop on a roof top, not recognizing the place and yet knowing that he'd been there before.

He took a deep breath. Took a moment to realize that running seemed to work just fine for as long as he wasn't consciously thinking about it.

His feet hurt and he was shivering, but he sat down on the cold ground anyway. He didn't understand things anymore, and staying here to brood sounded like a good idea right now. He just needed a moment, to calm down, to think things through.

There had to be a reasonable explanation for Len's behavior. And now that Barry took a second to think about it, it was quite obvious—Len was an enemy of the Flash. Maybe the other speedsters, too. And he'd been asleep before Barry had just barged in like that. Of course Len's first instinct would be to defend himself if a speedster suddenly showed up in front of him.

Len wouldn't hurt _him_.

Len cared. Len had helped him just this afternoon, when he'd freaked out.

Barry wrapped his arms around his knees. That had to be it. Now he felt silly for running away. He should probably get up and go back, soon.

He just didn't know the way back to Len's house. And sitting in this spot was helping him relax, for some reason. It felt like—his special brooding spot, of sorts. Maybe he should call it that.

He realized his fingers weren't vibrating anymore. The cold air seemed to help with that. He should probably remember that, in case he would panic again. It made sense, he supposed. Cold slowed things down. It also explained why Len would have a cold gun to fight against speedsters.

A few minutes later, the cold wasn't so nice and relaxing anymore. Now Barry was shivering instead of vibrating. What an amazing improvement.

He sighed deeply. He was still wearing the clothes Len had lent him, because they'd been so comfortable to sleep in, but they weren't really suited for being outside at night in December. He really should get up and try to figure out how to find his way back. He looked up into the sky, at the almost full moon. Well, at least he wouldn't have to search in the darkness, that would really be— Was that a shooting star?

Barry squinted. It was bright and moving along the sky, but somehow it didn't look like a shooting star. It was a bit too big and not quite the right color and—coming closer?

Barry got up. It almost looked like fire, and a person inside that—he remembered reading about a man who could do that, called Firestorm and working with the Flash.

There was no way they knew Barry was helping plan a crime, right? No way that guy would be coming here to lock Barry into that pipeline prison of theirs, and—

But the guy was still coming closer, definitely seemed to be heading to where Barry was right now, and Barry was too tense from his nightmare and being held at gunpoint by Len to just stick around.

He zipped off, hiding behind a large potted plant and carefully peeking out to watch the guy landing. He realized his mistake a moment later, when he looked behind himself and noticed that he couldn't possibly get to the door leading back down without the guy noticing. There was nothing but the ledge behind him, leading straight down. He very much doubted that he'd be able to run down a _wall_ with his super speed.

But all of that wouldn't be a problem, right? There was no way that Firestorm was actually here because of _him_.

Cautiously, he leaned forward and took another glance at the man. In the darkness it was hard to tell anything much besides the guy's head literally being _on fire_. How was that even possible? How was the guy able to see anything?

But important scientific questions aside, Barry mostly hoped that the man would do whatever he'd come for soon and then leave. Preferably before spotting Barry in his less than stellar hide-out.

Any such hopes evaporated, however, when the man looked around the roof and then called out, "Mr. Allen?"

Barry could feel the same cold dread from before welling up in him, heartbeat speeding up. He sucked in a sharp breath, closing his eyes and cursing himself for not bringing the cellphone Len had given him, for not remembering the way back, for running off without thinking things through.

They _were_ here for him.

That was bad, terribly bad. Yes. But he could do this, could still figure out a way to get out of this—

"Mr. Allen? Are you here?" Firestorm called again, then was quiet for a moment. Barry carefully peeked around the pot, saw the young man's hand go up to his ear. Maybe a comm link? How was that even possible with the guy's head on fire? It made even less sense than being able to see. He strained his ears, picking up an "You sure he's here?" and "Bit of help would be nice if you know so much _better_ what to do."

Barry clenched his hands into fists, worried that he might get nervous enough for his fingers to vibrate again, that Firestorm might hear the faint buzzing noise.

A moment later, however, it turned out that such precautions weren't necessary. Barry heard a strange sound he couldn't place at all, but when he turned around to the ledge behind him, he felt his heart sink.

There was a person in a mechanical suit, _flying_ through the air as well and heading straight for the roof top. And at that angle, there was no way said person hadn't already spotted him, cowering behind the potted plant.

Barry swallowed, trying to ignore the cold fear settling in his gut. A tremble ran through his body.

At this point, he definitely couldn't run anymore without being spotted. It was dark, and his lightning left visible trails. He couldn't possibly run down a wall, and the path to the door was blocked by the guy on fire. Not to mention that both people heading for him could fly.

Barry could feel his fingers shaking again, an odd tingling sensation against his palm. He flinched as he heard an oddly cheerful voice, coming from the person in the flying suit.

"There he is!"

Barry swallowed. Suddenly, he was not only quite sure that they were here for him, but also that he would definitely, just like Shawna, end up locked into the Flash's pipeline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have to say, this chapter's been a lot of fun to write. Especially since I love writing cliffhangers :D
> 
> Now, as you'e already been guessing, Len is finally starting to feel guilty. Was about time. Guess how much worse he'll feel now that Barry has run off...
> 
> As for a few things regarding this chapter, I've had a lot of fun writing Barry's dream and mixing his memories of Zoom and feeling betrayed by Len and Shawna's abilities with his current worries about the heist. Also, Barry's shaking fingers aren't from him being easily scared, which he hardly seems to be in the show, but more from his body accessing the speed force. So it's more of a general reaction to get ready for trouble, but since no one in the fic knows that, there wasn't really an appropriate time to bring it up.  
> Also Firestorm. Love the character, rewatched the episode to get a better handle on him, and still it was so difficult to write his three sentences :'D But there hasn't been a lot of interaction between Barry and Jax so far, so I really wasn't sure what Jax would even call Barry. So in the end I decided to let Professor Stein supply "Mr. Allen".
> 
> Now have fun trying to figure out how Barry gets out of that mess while I take my sweet time writing it out >:D


	6. The Ones Left Behind

They cheered once they'd managed to dispose of the bombs. They all did. Finally, Barry could fight back against Weather Wizard and the Trickster. It had been painful to hear Barry getting beaten up—probably more painful for Barry himself, sure, but it hadn't been fun listening in on that, either—but now things would finally go over okay.

Or, at least that was what they all thought.

Cisco flinched when he heard Barry yell out in pain, saw Jay next to him wince in sympathy, and yeah, that sounded like it hurt a lot. There was static in the comm now, and Cisco resolved to give Barry a very stern talking to about getting his suit fried—as soon as he knew that Barry hadn't been hit by anything serious.

"Barry?" he asked, waiting a moment and, after not getting an answer, repeating himself a few times. What had happened? Had Barry been knocked out?

It seemed to be the most likely explanation, but with police already at the scene, they needed to act fast. The plan was easy enough—grab the Flash, get him back to STAR Labs, let Barry have a nap. Then they could celebrate this victory over two villains teaming up against the Flash and still losing.

But when Jay, Harry and Cisco arrived at the scene, carefully peeking into the street since they weren't exactly keen on being spotted and having to explain _anything_ , really—the Flash wasn't there anymore.

Cisco could spot the Trickster, tied to a light post, and Weather Wizard, knocked out, hand-cuffed and currently being dragged into a police car by who might or might not be Barry's girlfriend—it was a bit hard to tell with that kind of distance. And that was nice, great, really, because it meant that the Flash had _won_ this fight.

What it didn't explain, however, was where Barry was now. It obviously wasn't here.

Cisco tapped the comm in his ear, noticing that there was no static coming from Barry's side anymore. Only silence.

"Any chance Barry is at STAR already and getting out of my poor, ruined suit?" he asked, sagging when Caitlin told him that wasn't the case.

Well. That was certainly strange.

But with a Harrison Wells in tow, who wasn't their Harrison Wells but still had the same troublesome face, and police starting to crawl all over the place, they couldn't stay. A strategic retreat for the time being was in order.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

It was early morning by now. Early enough to see the sun rising when Cisco was sent out for another coffee run, to keep everyone going. Because literally everyone was at STAR Labs, and _no one_ was getting any sleep. Not Caitlin, or Iris, or Joe or Jay or Harry. And before Cisco had left, there'd been talk about calling Firestorm in as well, maybe even Ray or the Green Arrow.

Because Barry was still nowhere to be found.

Weather Wizard must have hit him pretty hard, because all attempts at locating the suit had failed so far. The poor thing had to be fried into oblivion. Which didn't exactly make Cisco's mental scenarios of what had happened to Barry himself any better. His suit didn't fry easily.

But Barry had to somehow have gotten away from the scene, and dead or seriously injured people generally didn't run all that well. So to some degree, Barry had to be alright. Probably was just hiding out somewhere, maybe with a twisted ankle or something, until the police left and he could come back to his worried friends. His very, _very_ worried friends, who all had very, very complicated coffee orders. Why had Cisco signed up for this again?

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Caitlin kept her eyes on the clock. She'd been working almost non stop all day, allowing herself a short nap before having to go to her actual, paid job, and then heading back to STAR Labs right after. Barry was still gone, and they were all working to find him, but now...

She kept her eyes on the minute hand, watching on as it ticked another minute forward.

Officially 24 hours since Barry had disappeared, now.

By now, most of the light and nice and funny ideas they'd come up with, all the scenarios that would end with Barry zipping inside, grinning and maybe a little banged up, but ultimately _fine_ , didn't make sense anymore. No twisted ankles. No hiding out until the police went away. No 'I was at a friend's place and accidentally fell asleep, my bad'. Not anymore.

Whatever had happened to Barry to keep him away this long, it had to be pretty serious. And it didn't help that none of them had any idea _what_ had happened.

Barry's cellphone was still lying on a desk next to her. They'd found it when Iris had tried calling Barry. It had still been lying in a back room where Barry always left it when he went out in the suit. As did Barry's civilian clothes.

Just another reminder that Barry had left and not come back.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

It was the middle of the night, maybe early morning at this point, and despite having been awake almost non stop since the evening before, Joe couldn't find any sleep.

He hoped that Iris fared better, that _Barry_ fared better—

And he didn't have anything more but hope at this point, did he?

Barry had to be badly injured, if he stayed away that long. Or maybe he was held somewhere, against his will, who knew. For a few more pessimistic moments, Joe had also considered that maybe it was another coma. Barry lying somewhere, unconscious for another nine months—

It was a haunting thought.

If at least they knew where Barry _was_.

Joe was reminded of that one time he'd gone up to Barry's room at night to tell the kid _good night_ , only to find the bed empty, Barry nowhere to be found. He'd searched the whole house, worried that Barry had left, tried to wander to Iron Heights on his own again or something equally stupid and been snatched up on the street. Joe had been so worried for this kid he'd taken in—then had ultimately found the brat, hiding under Iris' bed. Who'd lied to him with an absolutely straight face. A sleep-over, they'd called it—their first one. Almost giving Joe a damn heart attack. Not his last one. Not with those two to look after.

Joe sighed, tired and weary and worried. He doubted that it'd be anything as innocent as that this time.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

As a reporter, it was Iris' job to find the story. The next big mystery, the one thing no one else was able to uncover. Today, on the second day Barry was missing—or was it the third? It was difficult to count with Barry disappearing at night. It hadn't been 48 hours quite yet, though—she wasn't doing much of her job, though. Too busy searching the street where Barry had disappeared.

She knew that Cisco, Jay and Harrison had been there immediately after and not found anything. The same going for Joe, who'd been there the next morning with the police. She also knew that it was unlikely that she would find anything now, 40 hours after the fact, but still.

She might not be a detective, but investigation was her job. With the Flash fighting two of his enemies here at once, there had to be some kind of clue, a witness, a small hint they'd been missing so far.

In the distance, she could make out Firestorm, flying over the city in hopes of spotting Barry's trail of lightning. Or _anything_ , really. And Ray was planning on arriving in the afternoon, helping out as well.

At this point, they all knew that it had to be something pretty serious to keep Barry away this long.

Iris spent her afternoon looking for clues, asking people who lived close by if they'd seen or heard anything suspicious—more suspicious than the Flash fighting two of his enemies, yes. She was asking for a special report in the newspaper, of course.

After hours of not finding anything, she was getting quite discouraged, though. This was usually the point where she'd talk to someone, vent her frustration before setting out again with renewed energy, but—with Barry gone and Eddie _gone_ , that was easier said than done. She considered asking Linda, but then dropped the idea. Lying to someone else who cared about Barry didn't seem right, not when they didn't even know where Barry _was_.

But that was all the more reason not to give up now, she reminded herself. This was _Barry_ , after all.

And maybe she was looking at this the wrong way. She paused, taking in the street. Maybe the clues weren't _here_ at all. Barry was gone, which meant that Barry had to have _left_ some way. She knew one end of the street had been closed off by police, knew from Patty who'd arrived at the scene first that Mardon had hit the Flash with lightning.

She walked down the street, estimating angles and distance, stopping at a corner. This should be around where Barry would have landed. Looking around, there was a small street next to this one. Not the only one branching off from the large plaza where Barry had fought, not by far, but assuming Barry had left, this would most likely be the route he'd taken.

Iris followed the street, coming into—of course—another one. From here it'd be difficult to tell which way Barry would have taken. If Barry had decided on his route himself at all, and Joe's very grim theory of abduction wasn't true.

Still, this gave Iris a new area to work with, and she might just have enlisted Ray's help from the skies once the man arrived.

With all the hard work she'd put into this, it was just a bit frustrating when it ended up being Ray who found the big important clue. But still, _her_ ground work. And Iris was quite sure that if she had a flying mechanical suit, it'd have been her who spotted the crumpled bit of red in a dumpster a few streets over.

Said crumpled red object turned out to be the Flash's suit.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

"In a _dumpster_?" Were the first words out of Cisco's mouth when Atom brought the suit to the Labs. Actually, Jay had to say he was a bit surprised just how dedicated the young man was to a suit that wasn't even his to wear.

But even with the previous location of the Flash suit being what it was, the relief still shone through in Cisco's voice. It was also evident on the others' faces. Not surprising, given that this was their first actual hint to Barry's position.

Firestorm and Joe were searching the area right now, hoping to find more clues—or even better, Barry himself. Caitlin was using Felicity's program to access different cameras, in hopes of finding any sign of their friend there, though there weren't many cameras in the streets they were interested in.

Which left Cisco to examine the suit, and Jay to sit around uselessly. Wells wasn't around anymore, had left at some point during the night when everyone had been too tied to care, but Jay was still sticking around. To give moral support and get people coffee, if nothing else.

Not being able to use his own speed anymore was something that stung more some times, and less at others. This was definitely one of the 'more' situations.

"Huh, that is odd," he heard Cisco mutter from where he was still hovering over the suit.

Jay got up to take a closer look at it himself, taking in the darkened patches and scrapes from the street. The dumpster had left its traces as well. Cisco was staring at the circuitry in one of the flash-shaped ear pieces, which looked partly molten. That would explain why they hadn't been able to talk to Barry or pinpoint his location anymore.

"What is?"Jay asked.

"See this?" Cisco held up the circuitry board, a frown on his face. "Most of this thing is thoroughly fried, but the transmitter for Barry's location isn't. It's been manually _shut off_."

Well, that was certainly interesting. "So, someone didn't want us to find Barry?"

"Or Barry himself didn't want to be found," Cisco added. "Don't be so negative. He could have left it behind to hide. Kinda' hard to blend in with this suit."

"Whoever did it, they ditched the suit as well, just to be sure."

Cisco nodded in response. "Yeah. So either Barry doesn't want to be found and we should stop looking, or someone else doesn't want him to be found—in which case, we really, really shouldn't stop."

They gave each other a long look, silent.

"We better keep looking," Jay stated, receiving an enthusiastic nod from Cisco.

"Yeah. I'll call Joe, ask him if he knows any place Barry might go if he doesn't want to be found," Cisco suggested, looking way more enthusiastic than he had a few hours before.

"I'll look into people who would have the means to get the Flash out of there undetected and keep him contained," Jay offered in turn, leaving Cisco to his work.

 

As it turned out over the course of the next few hours, determining those people was anything but easy.

There were a _lot_ of people who could have helped the Flash get away from the scene. As in, literally anyone currently around. People living close by, people being in the vicinity for whatever matters, and with the rather obvious fight of th Flash and his Rogues someone might have even headed there on purpose. _Anyone_ was a suspect.

As to who would be able to keep the Flash with them for so long, that left a much shorter list of people. Containing someone with super speed would require very advanced technology as well as a lot of knowledge about the Flash's powers. Jay couldn't think of anyone fitting that description except for STAR Labs itself. A meta human might be able to hold the Flash, given the right sort of abilities. That could be anyone who'd been in Central City when the particle accelerator had exploded. Namely an awful lot of people, so that approach was another dead end.

Then there was Zoom. If the dark speedster had gotten his hands on Barry while Barry had been unconscious and unable to fight back, that would be _bad_. Seeing as Zoom had tried to kill Jay after stealing _his_ speed, in that scenario Barry would most likely be long dead by now. But Zoom wouldn't have bothered with putting Barry's suit in a dumpster and taking Barry himself out of it first, so that was hopefully not what had happened.

The third option Jay could think of was that someone had taken Barry, but not against his will. If it had been a friend, one they knew of or not, Barry would have no reason to run from that person. However, that also didn't give Barry any reason to stay away from them at STAR Labs for so long. Another dead end.

Jay sighed and took a look at his watch, noticing that they'd passed the 48 hour mark of Barry being missing. It was a depressing thought and not a timeframe he wanted to keep track of, but since Caitlin had started it yesterday, it felt hard to stop now.

They had to find Barry. The longer he was gone, the more danger he could be in. They couldn't give up after just two days. Couldn't give up after three, four, not after a week...

Jay swallowed, wondering when they _would_ give up. Inevitably. When they would decide to get on with their lives, that if they hadn't found Barry yet, they likely never would.

How long would it take form them to lose hope? A month? A year? More? Less?

How long had it taken back on his earth? He'd been on this world for over six months now. Were his friends still looking for _him_? Had they lost hope? Were they still thinking of him, remembering him, missing him? Did they think he'd simply left, without a word? That he was in trouble? That he was dead?

Wells had said that he was presumed dead, but there was no reason to trust that liar's words. Still, it left him to wonder...

What was _his_ Central City like, without its Flash?

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

It all was like a blur. Waking up to a whooshing noise, " _Len_ " being spoken in the Flash's off-sounding voice, drenched with emotions Len couldn't discern, him reaching out for his cold gun out of reflex—

Opening his eyes fully to look at the speedster's blurry outline standing in front of him, his cold gun up—he blinked once and the Flash was gone.

Just like that.

Len lowered his gun, blinking again and only then realizing what he'd done.

He'd been on edge, worried that Barry would find out, would be angry, and it had made him twitchy— but immediately running off again, that reaction didn't look like _anger_ to Len.

Only then it really clicked that he'd just threatened _Barry_ with the cold gun.

And Barry had _run_.

Well, that was certainly bad.

Len got up, hurried over to look into Barry's room, but the other wasn't there. Checking the other rooms, he turned up empty as well.

He called out Barry's name, not getting—and not really expecting—an answer.

Len forced himself to let out a small, controlled breath. Getting irrationally worried now wouldn't help with solving the problem.

He couldn't deny the obvious. Barry had left. That was Len's fault. As if causing Barry to dissociate wasn't enough, Len had fucked up _again_.

If he was lucky, Barry would realize that Len hadn't meant to threaten him with the cold gun and would come back. But Len didn't get lucky. He needed a _plan_.

He needed to _find_ Barry. Bring him back.

If Barry's friends found him first, Barry would learn the truth. That would be bad.

If someone else got to Barry, told Barry the truth or lied to him to use him just like Len had—also bad.

But Barry was still a speedster, he'd be able to take care of himself for a little while. Hopefully. And there were only so many places Barry could go, in a city he didn't remember with speed he didn't know how to use. Barry hadn't even taken a _jacket_. Or the cell Len had given him.

But Len just needed to find him, explain his actions and that should settle things. The only real challenge there was the 'finding' part.

Maybe he should enlist the help of others, someone he trusted to hunt down the speedster without hurting him too much to keep up the charade of being friends—Lisa or Mick would be options, but he wasn't sure if they knew of Barry's affiliation with STAR Labs. Lisa had mentioned a 'cute brunet' being with Cisco at the bar. If she, or Mick for that matter, figured out that Barry, the speedster staying with Len, was the Flash, it'd be hard to predict their actions. Better not risk that.

With that conclusion, Len grabbed an additional coat and drove off on his bike.

 

A few hours later, when the sun came up and he still hadn't found Barry, he wondered if he'd really made the right choice.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

It was rather exhausting to fly with the suit for so long, Ray had to admit. Frankly, he wasn't used to it. Perhaps he should consider this training. Endurance, recon, working at night and all of that.

Besides, he could hardly stop looking when they still hadn't found Barry after more than two days. Only the Flash suit. And looking for Barry, it gave him something to focus on, besides Felicity's rather critical condition. Getting Oliver to leave the hospital was likely impossible. And Ray didn't feel comfortable not being there right now, providing silent support to a very dear friend still struggling for her life—

But Barry was a friend, too. Not only his, but Felicity's as well. And Ray would not risk losing a second friend, not when in this case he could actually _do_ something to help. Even if that something was just flying over Central City for hours on end, and now that it was dark Firestorm was probably a lot more effective than him. And Ray was getting pretty tired...

He shook his head. Nope. Everyone had been working non-stop on minimum sleep to find Barry, the least he could do was do the same. It wasn't even 1 am yet. He'd stayed up hours on end when he'd had ideas for new technology, one night without sleep was nothing.

But considering how much his shoulders hurt by now, setting down for just a moment surely wouldn't hurt—

Ray blinked.

Had that just been a flicker of lightning down in the streets?

Probably just the warning light at a jobsite, or Ray's tired mind playing tricks on him... But it wasn't like he had anywhere else to be, he might as well check it out.

He rolled his shoulders as much as he dared while still airborne, then headed for the street the flickering light had come from.

Nothing suspicious down there... Nothing that could have caused the flash of yellow, either. And no more than a few seconds had passed since Ray had seen it. That in itself might just mean—

There it was again, a few streets over. Ray was sure he'd seen it this time.

He sped up, not wanting to lose sight of the flickering light heading downtown. He couldn't quite catch up to it, but the bit he could make out from up here certainly looked like the Flash's lightning trail.

"Cisco, you still awake? I think I might have just spotted Barry—or at least his lightning, anyway, but that'd still mean it's _him_ ," he radioed in to the Labs, hearing a faint crackle of static before there was Cisco's voice in his ear, sounding slightly out of breath.

"You have? _Where_?"

"Heading downtown. Not sure if I'll be able to catch up, but I think Firestorm should be somewhere around there. Maybe they'll be able to get closer."

"I hope so, but try not to lose him."

"Already on it," Ray muttered, speeding up as much as he could. Barry had been gone for more than two days, Ray was hardly going to miss this chance at getting him back.

He squinted, trying to fly as fast as possible without losing sight of the by now quite far away flicker of yellow. Which was gone a few moments later.

Great.

Had Barry stopped running? Had he gone inside somewhere? Was he in trouble?

It was hard not to worry as Ray searched the city for what felt like an hour and was probably no more than fifteen minutes, hearing from Cisco that Firestorm wasn't doing any better.

He couldn't believe that he might have spotted Barry and then _lost_ him again a few moments later. He'd been so close—

Ray mulled things over in his head. With the direction the lightning had been headed and the distance where it had stopped... Ray's flight stuttered a little as he realized that he knew where Barry had gone.

"I think he might be at Jitters!" he told the others, changing course since he'd flown rather far away from there.

"You sure? I flew over that place not long ago," Firestorm's reply came over the comm link.

"It's our best guess, it'd make sense for Barry to head there. And even if not, he still should be relatively close by. He couldn't get too far without running," Ray argued.

"Guess so. I'll check it out."

Ray really did his best to hurry then, despite his shoulders' protests. If they were lucky, they might just be able to find Barry.

His optimism dimmed a little when Firestorm called in a bit later, asking him if he was sure that Barry had been headed to Jitters. But Ray actually _was_ sure, and once the roof top of the coffee shop came into sight, he could spot Firestorm standing in the middle of it, and out of the young hero's sight, behind a large potted plant—

Barry.

"There he is!" Ray called out, pointing towards the plant so Firestorm would know where to look.

He was almost at the roof himself, still a bit too far to make out Barry's expression but nonetheless sure that it was _him_ , and what a relief to see his friend after so long, after worrying so much—

In hindsight, Barry cowering behind a potted plant, out of sight and quite obviously hiding from Firestorm, should have been his first clue that something was off. As it was, Ray was a bit too happy and not arriving at that conclusion until he drew closer, and suddenly Barry was running off again.

Running off, not to hug them and thank them for looking for him, but running off straight past Firestorm and to the door leading downstairs, back to the streets.

"What is it? Did you find him?" Cisco's excited voice came over the comm, and it took Ray a moment to reply as he was taking off again, Firestorm right behind him.

"He ran off. Something's wrong."

Even with Central City's rather illuminated streets, the bright lighting trail of Barry's speed was easy to make out. Not as easy to follow, though, but Barry took a strange amount of detours on his way, and with him and Firestorm splitting up and being able to fly, they were keeping up so far, never falling more than a few blocks behind Barry.

Who was running away from them? What the hell was going on?

"He's running from you?" Cisco asked, sounding worried. "But why? You think someone's blackmailing him or something?"

"Don't know," Firestorm replied, "but I know he's fast. Think we should let him go, with him trying to get away and everything?"

There was a moment of silence before Cisco's next reply. "No, try to catch up. If he's in trouble, we can't help him without talking to him first. And I mean, him coming to Jitters was probably an attempt at getting in touch with us, or telling us that something's wrong, right?"

"We should try to talk to him, at least," Ray resolved. "He doesn't seem to have a handle on the city's outline without you to tell him, though? Maybe we can catch up if we get him somewhere he really doesn't know his way around."

"Good idea. Think you can get him to go left?" Cisco asked, supplying the two of them with various instructions after that to get them somewhere better suited for pursuit.

It wasn't easy to direct someone who was actively running away. But when Ray took a look at the streets beneath him, the part of the city that Cisco had guided them to, he understood the sentiment behind it. A residential and bar district, lots of small streets, curves, dead ends, a maze of alley ways. Flying above it in a straight line was no problem, but the lightning beneath them had to take turns left and right, running back and forth.

As incredible as it sounded, they actually were able to slowly catch up to the Flash.

At first the flickering light was still a few streets away, but with him and Firestorm closing in from different sides and having Cisco's instructions, that distance was steadily decreasing.

Only three streets between him and the flickering light, only one between it and Firestorm, then Ray actually caught side of Barry for a split second before the other was gone again.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Firestorm flying lower in the next street over.

"He should be coming out on one end any moment now, Jax, the other streets are all dead ends. And in case he runs up a wall and goes over the roofs you should be able to catch up to him, Ray," he heard Cisco's voice in his ear.

Ray tensed, getting ready to hear from Firestorm that he'd spotted Barry, or see Barry himself.

One moment passed, feeling much to long.

Then another.

And another.

"You see him yet, uh—Ray?" Firestorm asked hesitantly.

"No, nothing on the roofs. Cisco?"

"As I said, the two other streets are dead ends. And he can't have run into one of the bars, not without risking that someone notices his speed."

Ray frowned. If Barry had nowhere to go, he still had to be _somewhere_ close by. "Hold your position, I'll check the other streets."

He flew lower, carefully scanning the roofs around and the street beneath him. They couldn't let Barry slip past them, now that they were so close. Ray went just low enough to check the few people in the street below him, scanning over the faces of what mostly looked party-goers. But no Barry.

He went on to look into the other alleys Barry could have headed into, both of them dead ends. No party-goers there, just two guys making out against a wall, two others and three girls smoking in a corner. And one very upset cat that didn't seem to be too pleased about the attention when he checked the dumpster it'd been hiding in, after seeing a flicker of movement.

Still, no Barry.

"No sign of him," Ray reported after fighting the vicious cat off, glad for his suit preventing the tiny beast from clawing off his face.

"Nothing here, either. You sure there's nowhere else he could have gone?" Firestorm asked.

"Nope, nothing on the map. Unless Barry is suddenly in the habit of breaking into stranger's homes and you two feel like checking every single building in the area..." Cisco trailed off, sounding just as dejected as Ray felt. "I can't believe we lost him again."

"He obviously didn't want us to talk to him. Maybe it's for the best this way?" Firestorm suggested, taking off into the night again. "I mean, he must have had his reasons for running away."

"Yeah. Can't wait to hear those from him _personally_ ," Cisco muttered darkly.

It wasn't difficult for Ray to make out the worry in the young man's voice. He felt the same way, after all.

What the hell was going on with Barry that he was running from them, his friends?

And just where had Barry _gone_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative chapter title: My first time at writing Barry's friends and instead of taking it slow, I try to do everyone at once.
> 
> Fun fact: Originally Ray's part was supposed to be in the next chapter. I'd have left you with the exact same cliffhanger again. Knowing nothing more, except that Len still hasn't found Barry a few hours later. But a friend of mine said that'd be too mean, so y'all can thank her for... another cliffhanger a bit later on. Hah :') Have fun guessing how Barry got out of that one.
> 
> Also thanks for so many nice comments, I am always so happy to hear that you like this fic =D So happy that I wrote like 4k words yesterday...


	7. Friends In Unexpected Places

Barry was pretty sure he'd never run this long, or this _fast_. Or from someone as intimidating as a guy on fire and one in an honest to god robot suit, who were probably trying to lock him up in some secret prison of the Flash.

Well, Barry might not remember how to use his speed or the streets he was running through, and his ears felt like they were freezing off by now, but he would run for as long and as far as he could. Hopefully far _enough_.

Right now, he really regretted never asking Len or Shawna for details on how she'd gotten out of the Flash's prison. All he knew was that Len had helped her get out. Absent-mindedly he wondered if Len would try to get him out of there as well. They were friends, right? But the Flash had to be a pretty dangerous enemy, and with these two flying guys as back-up...

Not to mention that Len would probably never know if they caught Barry now and locked him away. Barry would rot in that prison forever.

He really hoped that with his super speed he'd also gotten super stamina, because he felt like he'd been running forever from the two flying men, and still hadn't managed to shake them off. Instead they were splitting up, following him and never falling far enough behind that Barry would be able to hide. And it wasn't easy to run at super speed and keep his eyes on two pursuers at the same time.

Maybe that was why he didn't realize that they weren't just following him, but also directing his way until it was too late.

From one moment to the next the straight, open streets where he'd been able to run freely were gone, and he was in a small maze of alley ways, not knowing where to go. Every few turns he found himself in a dead end, realized he'd run in a circle or saw the street so crowded with people that he couldn't run through them.

The two men following him had obviously planned this, and unfortunately, it worked. Barry remembered the panic, the feeling of being hunted in his dream coming back full force, as the two men in the sky drew closer and closer, chasing him through the narrow alleys.

With the many turns and dead ends, it was impossible to run faster, and the ground was so uneven that Barry almost stumbled and fell a few times.

A pang of fear raced down his spine as he saw one of the men in the street behind him, and as he turned around the next corner, he spotted the other one, already waiting for him. He made a sharp turn, tried another street, but it was a dead end, then headed back around and hoped that the last alley would be his way out of here—

Another dead end.

Barry skidded to a stop, almost tumbling into the wall.

No way out, then.

He wondered if he'd be able to get past the fire guy again, without the element of surprise this time, but figured his chances were pretty low.

God, he was so fucked. He didn't want to spend the rest of his life locked up by the Flash—

"Not every day one sees a speedster running _from_ the heroes in this town," someone said behind him, and Barry whirled around, eyes wide.

There was a young man standing behind him, with brown tousled hair and glasses, a smug grin on an otherwise handsome face. Said face didn't seem familiar to Barry, but then again, that didn't mean anything these days.

"They're after me," Barry pressed out, not sure who this guy was or what his intentions were, but he really didn't want to get caught and was grasping at straws here.

"Want me to help you hide?" The guy asked, coming closer, a twinkle to his eyes that Barry didn't necessarily like.

Barry glanced over to the entrance of the small alley they were in, figuring that it was probably just a matter of moments until one of the Flash's flying friends would head this way and spot him. He swallowed, then nodded hesitantly.

A smile stretched over the man's lips as he stepped even closer, causing Barry to take back away and brush against the wall behind him. The man took off his black hoodie and held it out for Barry. "Put this on and play along."

Barry didn't quite understand what the guy was trying to accomplish here, but he was freezing and really didn't want to be found. He grabbed the hoodie and pulled it on with super speed, just about to ask what exactly this guy's plan entailed, when the other came even closer, crowding Barry into the wall and pulling the hood deep into his face before kissing him.

Barry blinked, feeling a bit slow.

The guy was pretty much pressing him into the wall, and Barry couldn't exactly say that it was comfortable, but this random stranger also wasn't too bad at kissing.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the man in the mechanical suit flying by, looking into their alley for a long moment.

It was then that Barry decided that he liked kissing this guy a lot better than being locked up by crazy superheroes for life, and wrapped his arms around the guy in front of him.

Then robot guy flew off again and Barry broke the kiss, a little out of breath and frowning at the man in front of him.

"Not that I'm not grateful for you helping me out, but I'm pretty sure you didn't have to _actually_ kiss me," he muttered, licking over his now wet lips.

The guy gave him a smug grin, not moving away an inch. "Maybe I wanted to. You're pretty cute."

Barry scrunched up his nose. "Well, I'm pretty sure—"

"That I just saved your ass by risking my own? My pleasure." The guy was still grinning, and it was starting to get on Barry's nerves. "Now be a dear and stay still for a few more minutes, in case they come back. I wouldn't want to get locked up with you."

Barry dropped his head back against the wall, still frowning a little. "Fine. At least tell me your name? I like to know who I'm fake-making out with."

The guy raised his brows, giving him a considering look. Barry felt like he was being evaluated for something he didn't know about. "Hartley Rathaway," came the reply after a moment.

"Barry. Barry Allen," Barry answered in return. "So, Hartley... Any particular reason you helped some guy with super powers hide from the city's heroes?"

Hartley's mouth twitched into a smirk again, though it looked a bit more tense this time around. Barry felt something warm on his chest and looked down to see Hartley's hand placed there, wearing an odd, green glowing glove. For some reason, that sent a shiver down his spine—not in the good way.

"I'm not on the best of terms with those heroes myself," Hartley answered, and Barry's gaze snapped back up to the man's face. "You might have heard of my run-ins with the Flash?"

Barry silently shook his head. Of course he didn't, but— this was probably the appropriate time to think about whether or not he could admit to Hartley that he had amnesia and hadn't really heard of _anything_.

On the one hand, Hartley had just helped him quite a lot, and if he really was one of the Flash's adversaries, he'd risked his own freedom by doing so. On the other hand, he'd taken full advantage of the opportunity to kiss Barry and despite Len being a good friend, Hartley being against the heroes as well didn't mean that Barry could trust him.

Barry shifted a bit, eventually deciding on keeping the truth to himself. "Can't say I have."

Hartley hummed, sounding oddly intrigued to Barry's ears. "So, how come you're in trouble with the Flash's friends?"

"I'm—" Barry hesitated, wondering if he could trust Hartley with this kind of information.

He still needed to find his way back to Len's house, and searching the whole city with his speed wasn't an option with the Flash's friends looking for him. But it was cold as hell out here, and Hartley seemed friendly enough so far... It suddenly struck Barry that Hartley with his strange, glowing gloves and animosity towards the Flash might just be one of the 'villains', just like Len. Maybe Hartley would actually be able to help him find Len.

"I've helped a friend with his heists. That's probably why they're after me."

"Interesting. Why are you so sure it's not about your speed?" Hartley asked, and Barry shrugged.

"Don't use it much. I, uh, think they're not looking for me anymore by now. Could you maybe..."

Still grinning slightly, Hartley took a few steps back. "Of course. So, Barry, where do you intend to go now, at a normal person's pace?"

Barry faltered a bit. "Not sure yet, I have some—memory issues, right now, so I'm—not actually sure? I need to find my friend. Just have to find a way back."

Barry could practically see the wheels in Hartley's head turn, probably going through a million thoughts before arriving at the most likely conclusion. Barry took a few hesitant steps away, then remembered that he was still wearing the hoodie and moved to take it off, but Hartley shook his head.

"Keep it on. You're shivering and to my knowledge, speedsters don't deal well with cold."

"Thank you," Barry muttered, a bit surprised at the action. It was freezing and this gift left Hartley in nothing but a sweater. Maybe Hartley was nicer than Barry had expected from his haughty attitude.

"In fact," Hartley went on, smug grin in place again, "why don't you come with me? I have a place close by, and since you apparently don't know where to go... I might even be able to help you find your friend. I'm quite resourceful, you have to know."

Barry considered the offer for a moment. He was pretty sure that going with strangers who kissed him without permission in an alley way at night was generally considered a bad idea, but—

He didn't know anyone else. Only Len and Shawna, and didn't know where to find either.

And it was fucking _cold_.

He nodded, a bit confused by the smirk stretching over Hartley's lips at that.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Barry Allen might or might not be the Flash.

Hartley wasn't sure yet.

It was hard to imagine that the cute guy following him into his rundown one-room apartment with a grateful smile would be Central City's famous hero.

There were certain facts indicating that Barry might be the speedster Hartley had fought last year. A rather obvious clue being that Barry actually _was_ a speedster.

When Hartley had put on his gear and snuck out onto the street, it had been to check if the Flash and the two other heroes were running around the place looking for _him_. Unlikely, of course, but better safe than sorry. Even Cisco would fall for tricks involving his hearing aids only so many times, and then escaping from the pipeline would get more difficult.

But Hartley had to admit, he had been rather surprised to not see the Flash's red suit, but a rather cute guy in sweatpants and a blue sweater, running _from_ the other heroes instead of with them.

Said cute guy was currently looking around his place, seemingly unsure where to go and not too appalled at the conditions. Hartley gestured for him to sit on the couch, then went looking for an extra blanket. Barry was still shivering.

Barry having super speed and using it to run from the heroes were one point for and one against him being the Flash, respectively.

It had been a bit of a gamble for Hartley to show himself and offer his help when the speedster had been trapped in the dead end, but he'd had his gear and felt confident that if need be, he'd be able to fight the guy off.

Barry hadn't recognized him, and hadn't tried to squirm away when Hartley had placed the sonic glove right on his chest. Even with super speed, getting away from an attack at that range would have been cutting it close. Two more points against Barry being the Flash.

And most important of all, Barry had told Hartley his _name_ , showed him his face. Hartley would have to check later if _Barry Allen_ actually existed, but if that was the case—

The super speed seemed rather incriminating, but Hartley very much doubted that the Flash would sacrifice his secret identity just to play tricks on one of his enemies.

Besides, Barry did look genuinely grateful when Hartley pulled out the one ratty blanket he'd managed to find and dropped it on his lap.

"Thanks," Barry muttered, huddling up in the blanket in addition to still wearing Hartley's hoodie.

Hartley couldn't blame him. This place lacked pretty much all insulation and the heating could be called uncooperative at best. He went to get a hoodie for himself before sitting down on the other end of the couch.

Barry fiddled with the blanket before looking over at him, expression open but also a bit wary. "For helping me hide and letting me stay here, I mean. I'll make this up to you somehow, I promise."

"You're a cute guy in trouble, and a speedster on top of that. How could I not help you?" Hartley answered with a smile, not missing how Barry's expression soured at that.

"You're at odds with him as well, right? With the Flash?" Barry asked, voice growing quieter as if they were having a secret conversation someone might overhear otherwise. With Hartley's paper-thin walls, that was actually quite possible.

So, dear Barry and the Flash really were on different sides. How interesting. And Barry had mentioned being involved in some crime or other earlier. He'd be a very useful—friend to have.

"I fought him once or twice. Spent some time in that pipeline of his, but I decided that I like the outside world better," Hartley answered the question, smile growing a bit sharper as he saw Barry pale.

"Yeah, I guess that's where they were trying to put me, too..." Barry muttered, leaning back against the couch. "How did you manage to get out of there?"

"I'm more intelligent than all of them combined. Their makeshift prison couldn't possibly hold me." Hartley was pleased to see Barry look slightly impressed—beneath a certain amount of exasperation.

"Do they put everyone they fight in there?" Barry asked, looking worried.

Hartley shrugged. "I didn't stick around long enough to learn the details. To my knowledge, they mostly do that with meta humans."

"You're a meta, too?" Barry perked up, looking him over with new interest. Hartley didn't exactly mind.

He tapped a finger against the shell of his ear. "My hearing is a great deal more advanced than any average person's. It hasn't been easy to adjust to at first, but these days I'm handling it just fine."

"Huh," Barry muttered, looking impressed.

Impressed and like he saw Hartley as a kindred spirit.

Someone else who had powers and was an enemy of the Flash. Which was exactly what Hartley wanted. No matter what he decided to do in the future, it'd be so much easier to achieve if he could make use of this cute, kind of gullible speedster.

Barry looked away for a moment, then back at Hartley again, swallowing. Nervous. "So, if you've fought the Flash, do you maybe know—Captain Cold?"

Hartley couldn't help but raise a brow. He'd certainly heard of that brute's fights with the Flash, and also rumors of some sort of truce that existed between him and the scarlet speedster. But Hartley couldn't say that he'd ever had any inclination to work with someone who'd never finished high school and had to steal his tech instead of building it himself.

"I've heard of him," he answered after a short moment of thinking, carefully watching Barry's expression. With the kind of tech he had, Captain Cold was a danger to the Flash as much as to Barry himself. "Why do you ask?"

Barry shifted a bit, looking uncomfortable and pulling the blanket further up. "I, uh... The reason I'm in trouble, this friend I'm working with? That'd be—him."

"You're working with _Captain Cold_?" Hartley asked in disbelief. He backtracked a moment later when he noticed that Barry looked half ready to run off. "What an—unlikely choice for a speedster like yourself."

Apparently consoled that Hartley was questioning the combination of their powers and not the choice to work with Cold itself, Barry shrugged. "It just happened. I'm—I might have overreacted and run off and now I have no way of getting in contact with him. Do you—Do you think you could maybe—"

Barry was giving him a wide-eyed, worried look, chewing on his lower lip, obviously not sure if he wasn't asking too much. Even if this wasn't a sublime opportunity for Hartley, it'd be hard to say _no_ to eyes like that. Not to mention Captain Cold would definitely be grateful to have his speedster back, and having him _and_ Barry to call on was even better.

Hartley shrugged. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you." Barry gave him a blinding smile. Then looked shy and slightly embarrassed the next moment. "And, uh. Do you think that I could, maybe—"

"Yes, you can stay here for the night," Hartley offered, and Barry straightened up at that, but went on.

"Thanks for that, too, but— Could I maybe, uh, borrow something to eat? I'll pay you back, of course. I'm just. Really hungry right now..." Barry trailed off, curling up under his blanket and looking oddly self-conscious for someone who'd just managed to outrun not one, but two flying superheroes. "It's a speedster thing... I think."

Hartley rolled his eyes and got up. It was the middle of the night and he'd much rather get some more sleep. "You can go see what's in the fridge and pantry, help yourself. You can have the couch for the night."

"Thanks," Barry said with a wide grin, jumping to his feet with the blanket still wrapped around his shoulders.

Hartley just nodded. "I'm going back to bed," he muttered, receiving an acknowledging noise from the direction of the fridge.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Barry didn't sleep well for the rest of the night. Too much had happened. First dissociating after hearing of the fire, followed by the nightmare of the terrible black-clad speedster, then Len aiming the cold gun at him. Running through a foreign city that was supposed to be his home, being chased by two flying heroes, almost getting _caught_ —

Barry was tired, but with all of that swirling through his thoughts, he couldn't settle. Besides, Hartley's couch was complete crap. And he felt bad for eating almost everything Hartley's fridge had had to offer. As it turned out, as large as his appetite had been before, using his super speed made it even worse.

He'd cleaned up the kitchen afterwards, doing his best to be quiet so he wouldn't wake Hartley up by accident, but the fridge was mostly empty now. And judging from the looks of this place, Hartley didn't seem to have the kind of money needed to feed a speedster.

Barry just hoped that he'd be able to find Len soon. Looking for the man at super speed wasn't an option, not with those heroes out there, but Hartley seemed to be very smart and resourceful. Surely he'd be able to help Barry with finding Len.

 

When Barry was woken up by someone shaking his shoulder, he felt like he hadn't slept at all. He blinked a few times, trying to open his eyes all the way, finding himself looking at Hartley's face.

"'M sorry, I ate all your food," Barry mumbled, still half-asleep and yawning afterwards.

"I noticed," came the dry reply. Barry yawned again. "I'm going to go out and get groceries. I'll also look into your Captain Cold problem. Don't go out, I don't need this place to be found."

Barry answered with a non-committal hum, turning onto his other side. He heard steps, then a door closing.

He took his time to really wake up. The couch seemed a lot more comfortable now that he was bone-tired. And once he got up, there wasn't really anything he could do, anyway.

Hartley's place was small, the kitchen area, bed, couch and a very cluttered desk all in the same room. It wasn't exactly the most organized and Barry could barely take a step without stepping into crumbs. There were heaps of take-out containers in the kitchen, all of them empty, and Barry decided that if nothing else, he could at least throw those away.

That led to him bringing out Hartley's trash, having spare key he'd found in his pocket. The hood was pulled deep into his face so he wouldn't run into trouble again. Literally. He had to search quite a while before finding the dumpster that seemed like it was for the building Hartley lived in, and might have had to ask an old lady for help. Well, as long as he found it in the end.

After that, Barry went back to sweep the floors and dust off the shelves that seemed like they might collapse any moment under a small mountain of books. As Barry looked closer, he found that most of them focused on science, mostly technology and... hearing? Barry guessed that wasn't all that surprising, given that Hartley had told him about his—super hearing, or whatever it was.

He looked around some more, considering cleaning up the desk which was barely visible beneath stacks of sheets, some of them looking like building layouts, others more like technological plans, others again like scientific papers. Since Barry couldn't even remember how to do his own job, he figured it'd be better if he left Hartley's things alone. He didn't want to accidentally disorganize anything.

But one design... Barry stepped around the desk to get a better look at the sheet. The design on it looked a lot like the glowing devices he'd seen on Hartley's gloves. There were small scribbles on the sheet, in the worst chicken scratch Barry had ever seen. Ideas on how to improve the whole apparatus, which was meant to—blow things up apparently.

Barry felt a twinge in his stomach. That didn't sound very nice.

But now that he was looking anyway, he noticed that the sheet next to this one was part of a paper on nanotechnology in hearing aids, and he could spot the beginning of said paper across the table...

Before he knew it, Barry was deeply immersed in reading about sonic technology.

It was hard to keep track of time, because the topic was very interesting, but also quite complicated and Barry was pretty sure that he hadn't dealt with this aspect of science before. He also felt like he was reading some parts at an average pace and others at super speed, but now that he'd started, he didn't feel like stopping.

It was interesting and challenging and it actually gave him something to _do_.

That was probably why, when the door opened and Hartley came in, Barry couldn't tell if minutes had passed or hours or even more time. He looked up from where he was sitting on the floor, covered in sheets with even more lying in a circle around them. It had felt like the best way to look at everything, without having a pinboard to tack everything to.

Hartley looked at him with a suspiciously raised eyebrow before he turned around, closing the door behind him and carrying large bags of groceries to the kitchen unit.

"What are you doing down there?" Hartley asked, sounding oddly sour.

Barry lowered the page he'd been reading, balancing it on his leg with two other stacks. "Reading up on this. It's actually pretty interesting."

Hartley made a 'tsk'ing noise. "I doubt you'll understand much of it. I came up with some of that myself, it's not some kind of high school textbook."

"Yeah, I noticed," Barry muttered, looking over the sheets all around him, pulling out one with sketches for an alternative design of Hartley's gloves. "But some of this stuff is really amazing. And like, if you'd take the component this one paper over there talks about—" an offhanded gesture over to a neat stack Barry had left on the desk "—and put it in your current design, it'd actually go a long way in reducing the backlash on yourself and also improve your ability to destabilize harder structures like cement or maybe even steel—"

"I'm aware," Hartley cut him off, his harsh tone startling Barry into looking back at him.

He knew that this might look strange to Hartley, being an expert on the topic while Barry had started just this morning, but he still felt that his idea was  _good_. And there was no reason to be mean.

"But your suggestion would also reduce the effects on organic matter, and the component you're talking about is as expensive as it is out of reach for me. I also very much doubt that you have the full picture of how my devices work."

Barry was frowning now, pursing his lips. "Why would you want to attack living things? You're already able to do way too much damage to a person."

"One can't exactly go up against the Flash wearing kid gloves."

Barry wondered for a split second if that was supposed to be a pun or if being around Len had just ruined him, then focused on the more important things. "I really don't think that you need those gloves to be any more destructive."

"You don't even know what these gloves _do_ , Barry. You're not an expert after reading twenty pages of one article."

Barry straightened up where he was sitting on the floor. "I know I'm not an expert, but I read everything on your desk and looked into a few of your books, so I think I know at least a _little_."

Hartley gave him a disbelieving look. "I was only gone for a few hours. You can't have read that much."

"Super speed," Barry gave back, noting how Hartley's expression went first surprised, then genuinely interested.

"You can read and process information at super speed?"

"Seems that way."

Hartley was quiet for a moment, considering. "Now I might just be a little jealous."

Barry couldn't help but smile a little. Having this ability wasn't exactly something he could be proud of, since it wasn't his own accomplishment but something granted to him by a freak accident, but still. Hartley's intrigued, slightly fascinated look wasn't something he minded being directed at him all that much. It was oddly flattering.

He fidgeted a little, averting his gaze and starting to shuffle the sheets around into different stacks. "So, what did you do while you were out?" He changed the topic.

"I bought food, and also contacted a few people I know from my—less law-abiding days. Told them that if they met Captain Cold, they should tell him that I'm interested in talking to him, since I ran into a friend of his," Hartley told him, putting the food away and then stepping over to Barry.

"You think that will work?" Barry asked. He didn't want to doubt Hartley's skills, but he wasn't sure if that would be enough to find Len.

Hartley nodded. "Cold is missing his scientist underling with super speed. He'll either try to get you back, meaning he'll have to ask if I know where you are, or find a suitable replacement—which would be me again. He'll get in touch."

Barry nodded to convey his gratitude, but also couldn't help but feel a bit miffed at Hartley's words. "He wouldn't just replace me..." He muttered, glaring at the glove designs in front of him.

Len wouldn't do that sort of thing. They were friends, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are all commenting so much and guessing at my cliffhangers and it's giving me life :D So in return, I'm writing more instead of sleeping...
> 
> I have to say, I love Hartley as a character but he's kind of a dick on the show. Or maybe that is because in the first Flash comic I ever picked up he was really nice? Idk. I'm kind of struggling with making him a douchebag, but not too douche-y... Better hope Barry leaves soon so I can go back to writing Len :D  
> It's also never stated on the show if Hartley knows that Barry is the Flash. After giving it some thought, I decided that it would be more fun this way. Maybe Hartley will figure it out on his own.
> 
> Just a heads up, now that my break is over I can't exactly afford to write for like 3 hours a day, and updates might come a little less regularly. I'm still hoping to make it at least once a week.


	8. Absence

Barry had been gone for 16 hours and 28 minutes by now. Which, if someone were to ask Len, were 16 hours and 28 minutes too much.

He'd checked all over the city for the kid. Streets, hotels, the place they'd stayed at before, he'd even peeked into Joe West's house just to make sure Barry hadn't returned there. Which Barry hadn't. And while Len was rather glad about that, he also needed to _find_ Barry.

Central City was a lot of ground to cover on his own. He was honestly considering asking Mick or Lisa for help by now, or maybe Shawna. At least he knew the teleporter wouldn't make any connection between Barry and STAR Labs. But since Barry was using his super speed right now, Len couldn't enlist anyone's help without risking that they would uncover that secret. Not something he wanted to do.

He'd heard rumors, of Firestorm and Atom going after a speedster the night before—a speedster no one was sure was the Flash. After the one in the black suit had beaten the Flash, everyone had picked up on the fact that there was more than just one speedster.

That rumor was deeply unsettling, but both heroes were _still_ flying rounds over the city, meaning that they likely hadn't managed to _catch_ said speedster. At least Len hoped so.

He drove back to the safe house every two hours, to check if Barry had come back there, but that hadn't happened yet. Len wasn't sure if Barry didn't _want_ to come back or if the speedster just couldn't find the way. Barry had amnesia after all. He was all alone, without knowledge of the city or his powers or his friends or his enemies...

Len grit his teeth. He should have been more careful. Pointing the gun at Barry had to be the stupidest thing he'd done in months. What if he had actually fired? What if Barry had _remembered_?

He'd been careless. It wouldn't happen again.

He just needed to _find_ Barry and clear things up.

Hopefully—Barry better be alright. It'd be quite aggravating to go through so much trouble for the speedster and then lose him to something as silly as running away without a jacket or phone.

One of Len's phones started buzzing in his pocket, and Len pulled it out. It was one of the burner phones, and he recognized the number as one of his more reliable fences. He considered not taking the call for a moment—he had more important things to do, after all—but he was running out of places to look for Barry. And there were things in his life besides Barry Allen, anyway.

As it turned out, taking the call was a great idea.

"Say that again," he snapped into the phone, a bit harsher than strictly necessary. It couldn't be—

"Heard it from a friend, Snart, just got told to relay. 'pparently, Pied Piper put out word that he ran into a friend of yours and wants to meet with you at Saints tonight. 's all I know." The man on the other end of the line sounded intimidated—as he should be, Len didn't have a reputation for nothing.

Len muttered an acknowledgement before ending the call, making a mental note to maybe not ice the guy should he ever fuck something up. If he had told the truth, that was.

If Len wasn't seeing things.

If Pied Piper had actually used the phrase 'run into' on purpose...

Well, only one way to find out.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

As Barry learnt that day, Hartley could actually be quite nice. Still full of himself and rude and confrontational, but beneath that—nice. And he absolutely loved to explain things to Barry, once Barry had convinced him that he understood what Hartley was telling him. In the evening, Barry had a slight headache from it all, but he'd also learnt so much and that felt pretty great.

Knowing at least some things, even if none of it was about himself.

Hartley had also mentioned that he'd go out tonight, to a bar where Len _should_ show up if he'd gotten Hartley's message. Barry sure hoped so.

Now that Barry wasn't quite as worried anymore, he also dared to ask some questions he hadn't earlier.

"So, Hartley..." He started, looking up at the young man sitting on the couch, while he was slouching on the floor in the midst of another circle of paper.

"Hmm?" Came Hartley's reply.

"What do you do?" Now Hartley looked at him, a strange mix of emotions on his face that Barry couldn't quite place. Confusion, irritation, anger... loss, maybe? Barry hurried to specify his question. "I mean, are you a full time 'super villain'? You seem to be pretty invested in this whole science stuff. And not just for the gloves."

Hartley stared at him quietly for a long moment, causing Barry to fidget.

"Not that you have to answer, of course. I don't know what happened after all and it's a pretty personal question..." He backtracked, only to be met by silence once more. And that stare. Barry swallowed.

"It's..." Hartley started eventually, thinking for another moment. "Complicated."

Barry waited quietly, not sure if Hartley would elaborate on that or not. If Hartley _wanted_ to elaborate.

If Hartley had told anyone else about this. If Hartley had anyone else to talk to at all, period. It seemed to be around Christmas or New Years, and Hartley had spent all day with him, virtually a stranger. That didn't exactly speak of many friends.

"Even someone with my qualifications has trouble finding a prestigious job when they're mostly famous for attacking buildings and fighting the city's resident hero," Hartley spoke, sounding not quite as assured as he usually did when it came to his skill. But what Hartley said made sense, Barry supposed.

Absent-mindedly, he wondered what had happened to _his_ job with the CCPD. He couldn't just stay away without a word forever—he'd be fired. If that hadn't already happened.

"Why did you start with the villaining in the first place?" Barry asked curiously, shuffling papers aside so he could move closer to the couch.

Hartley's glare hardened, and Barry got a feeling he'd overstepped a line.

"That doesn't concern you," Hartley hissed. "It's in the past, now."

Barry nodded. "I didn't mean to pry. Sorry," he muttered, then got up. "You okay with me making something to eat? I'm _starving_."

Hartley nodded, tension easing out of his shoulders. "Fine, go ahead."

Barry gave him a smile. "Great. What are you in the mood for?" He asked enthusiastically. This was the least he could do to cheer Hartley up. To thank him for letting Barry stay here and helping to find Len.

As he cooked, trying to make linguine allo scoglio—just without seafood, he wasn't a magician—he wondered what had happened to Hartley to cause him to become a super villain. To risk his skin and life and freedom, fighting the Flash, instead of working as the brilliant scientist he obviously was.

It seemed like a terrible choice to make. Then again, who was Barry to judge? He'd been working for the CCPD, hiding his super speed, and had still chosen to help Len commit heists. He really wondered how things had come to that.

The linguine were actually spaghetti, and the sauce was instant sauce with a bit of parsley added to it, but considering that Barry couldn't call on more cooking experience than that of a few days, it turned out quite okay. Hartley sniffed at it in distaste, complaining about how Barry had turned such a noble dish into 'instant food', basically turning wine into water, but Barry could see it as the playful teasing it was supposed to be.

Which was Hartley's luck, because the spaghetti tasted good and Barry could just as well eat them all on his own.

After eating, Hartley got ready to leave for the bar, wishing Barry a heartfelt goodbye that actually sounded more like "Whatever happens, don't be so stupid as to leave this place before I tell you to. You're the bargaining chip in case anything goes wrong."

Barry frowned a little, but nodded in agreement. " _Yes_ , I'll stay here. Just don't pick a fight, okay? Len's a really nice guy, when he wants to be."

Hartley gave him a wry grin, holding up his hands so Barry could see that he was wearing the sonic gloves, mostly hidden under the sleeves of his hoodie. "I can handle myself," he drawled with a cocky grin, and Barry got the bad feeling that Hartley would very much try to pick a fight.

"Just... Be careful, okay? And. Thank you. For doing this for me," he muttered, gaze travelling down to his own feet instead of Hartley's face.

"I'm not stupid, Barry," Hartley gave back. "I will get this sorted out."

Then Barry watched Hartley leave. Staring at the closed door for a few minutes before he could make himself move, ending up restlessly wandering around the room.

He just hoped Len would show up. Even though it hadn't even been a full day, Barry already missed him. He wondered what Len's life was like, without him.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

"Hey, Iris!"

"Oh, Patty. Hi," Iris greeted back with a friendly smile. She had only come to the precinct to give her dad updates on the search for Barry—not that there was terribly much to tell, since the collective explosion of worry and confusion the night before, when Barry had turned up only to _run away_ —and hadn't expected to run into Patty instead.

Really didn't _want_ to, if Iris was being honest. Patty was great and nice and kind and dating Barry and a great detective, and while all of that was usually endearing, it was quite a problem right now.

As far as Iris knew, her dad had made up some excuse for Barry not showing up to work, the flu or something along those lines. After all Barry should have a job to return to—once he actually did return.

The problem was, Patty still didn't know about Barry being the Flash and after all the other ridiculous excuses Barry had come up with, she definitely wouldn't believe this one.

And if Iris could do anything at all, she'd also make sure that Barry had Patty to return to. After the long time he'd spent hung up on—well, _her_ , Barry deserved someone who loved him back. Who cared for him and appreciated him and gave him what Iris couldn't.

That someone for Barry was Patty, and all would have been great if Patty knew about Flash business, but she didn't, and was probably already wondering—

"I haven't heard from Barry in a while, and he's not answering his phone, either. Do you know if everything is okay?" Patty asked, a worried crease between her brows.

Iris nodded and put on her best reassuring smile. "Yeah, he's—fine. The flu just really hit him this year. He spends like twenty hours of the day sleeping and the rest complaining that he's cold, so he probably hasn't even checked his phone yet. I'll tell him to do that when I come over again."

"Thank you," Patty replied with a friendly smile, and _wow_ , did Iris feel bad for lying to her. She had no idea how Barry did it. "After the last time he said he was sick and then wasn't—I don't know, I guess I'm just being paranoid."

"I'm sure he'll be better in a few days," Iris told her, spotting her dad at the far end of the precinct and making her escape. "At least we all really hope so. I have to get going, work, you know how it is. Bye, Patty."

"Bye, Iris," Patty gave back, hesitantly. A small frown settled on her face. Something wasn't right.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Len was standing in a shadowed alley, looking around the corner at _Saints and Sinners_. Piper hadn't specified a time for the meeting, which was annoying all on its own, but also chosen an ineffective way of contacting him. A _stupid_ way.

Len didn't trust any of his fences, beyond what was necessary. He was also at odds with quite a few people in this city, the police, the Santinis, a few dozen others, and all of them would jump at the chance to take him out. A chance like, for example, Pied Piper telling a bunch of prattling fences that he wanted to meet tonight at Saint and Sinners to discuss something.

Usually, Len wouldn't show up for shit like this, Piper was obviously a beginner at the whole 'being a criminal' thing and a damn bad one, too. But the _something_ to discuss might just be Barry, so not showing up wasn't really an option.

Even if the whole thing might just be an ambush, with Pied Piper involved or not. A trap with a bait Len couldn't refuse.

Saints and Sinners seemed to be bustling with activity tonight, a bit more so than usual, and even from where he was standing, Len could make out a few faces he knew. People he could take out easily, he'd brought his cold gun with him, but how Piper would react to that was an unknown variable. Len couldn't spook the guy, not with Piper being his only possible lead to Barry.

If Piper was inside already, Len would likely have to fight, take out Santini's men and everyone else who wanted trouble first. But as Len squinted, he saw movement in an alley on the other side of the street, a slim guy wearing a black hoodie stepping out a moment later.

Black hoodies were fairly non-descript, of course, but Len had done his research before coming here and a black hoodie just so happened to be what Piper had worn while playing super villain.

Deciding to take his chances—if this wasn't Piper, he'd have to fight his way in eventually anyway—Len knocked against the wall next to him, the guy's head snapping around at the noise, gaze settling on him. The man hesitated for a moment, glancing over to the entrance of the bar, before shuffling over into Len's alley.

One look at the cold gun in Len's hand and the guy pulled his hood off, revealing a young face that was—quite handsome, actually.

"Captain Cold, I presume?" The guy, quite obviously the Pied Piper, asked with a haughty tone to his voice.

Len nodded, shoulders tensing. They were partially hidden under long sleeves, but he could still see the sonic gloves Piper was wearing. He wondered if this would end in a fight—not that it mattered. If Piper had Barry, Len wasn't going to let this chance slip.

"Piper," he muttered, easily slipping into the persona he'd created, but a bit of tension remained. "You wanted to talk?"

"Yes," a smug grin settled on Piper's face. "I've run into a mutual acquaintance of ours and I believe that you might want him returned to you. All I ask for that is a small favor."

 _Run into_ again. So maybe Piper really _was_ talking about Barry.

"Not so fast. First, we should make sure we're talking about the same person," Len cut in.

Piper cocked an eyebrow, looking self-assured. "Cute guy?" He started. "Nice hair, super speed, good kisser?"

Len's fingers twitched around the cold gun, teeth grinding despite his best efforts not to show any emotion. Judging by Piper's widening grin, his reaction hadn't gone by unnoticed.

This was part of the game, he reminded himself. Piper might be shit at being a criminal and organizing clandestine meetings, but obviously knew how to rile people up. How to play them, get them angry enough to make mistakes. Len _wasn't_ going to fall for this, wasn't going to lose his cool over some kid claiming to have—

That didn't matter.

"Where is he?" Len asked, face back to the usual calm expression.

"Oh, no no no no," Piper tutted. "I can see why you want Barry back. But I wouldn't mind having my own personal speedster and since you obviously can't keep an eye on yours— as I said, it'll require a small favor for me to hand him back over."

Len's grip on the cold gun tightened, expression remaining unperturbed. "Assuming I'd agree—what would that favor be?"

"Nothing big. I just want something stolen," Piper elaborated, looking as if he had already won. Probably going to let his guard down soon. _Good_. "Mercury Labs is developing a special microchip that I'd very much like to call my own. I'm sure that a great thief like you can get it to me in—let's say a week? Once I have it, you're welcome to have Barry back."

"I'm not gonna' let you keep him. He's coming with me, _now_. Maybe if I feel like it, I'll get you your microchip _after_ that," Len stated.

Barry had only been with him for a good two days before running off and spending one with Piper. With that little time together, Piper might easily be able to talk Barry into staying with him instead of Len. There was no way Len would let that happen. Not to mention the catastrophe if Piper slipped up and caused Barry to find out that he was the Flash, that Len had lied to him—

And what if Piper already knew the Flash's identity? From his research, Len had learnt that Piper—Hartley Rathaway—had worked at STAR Labs at some point, had a personal vendetta against Harrison Wells—

Piper knowing that Barry was the Flash was very much a possibility. In that case, letting him keep Barry was even less of an option.

Piper shook his head, not the least bit intimidated. "No can do, Cold. I won't rely on your _word_ to keep your end of the bargain."

"You're aware you can't take me on in a fight, right?" Len asked. Piper had guts and usually he'd like that, but right now it was only annoying.

"What are you going to do? Steal Barry from me?" Piper taunted, taking a step forward. "I wonder what would happen if someone were to come by STAR Labs, tell them that Leonard Snart is hiding a speedster? Besides, Barry and I are quite _close_ —"

Piper was cut off by Len shoving the muzzle of the cold gun against his chest, the blue lights glowing faintly as it powered up.

"Listen to me, _Hartley_ ," Len drawled, very calm, very composed, and very close to pulling the trigger and freezing one of Piper's legs off. "You tell STAR Labs, or anyone else for that matter, about Barry and his powers— _you'll regret it_."

Piper raised his hands as if surrendering, but with the gloves on it obviously wasn't that. Another shove with the cold gun and a very pointed glare from Len, and Piper's hands dropped again.

"Alright, alright... Barry's secret is safe with me," Piper amended, still smiling but looking decidedly more nervous. "But I'm sure he wouldn't like whatever you plan on doing to me with this thing, so maybe you should put it down. As I said, we're _close_."

The muscles in Len's jaw worked. Piper wasn't really doing himself any favors here.

"I'm sure Barry'd love playing hostage for a week," he drawled, voice hard, keeping the cold gun exactly where it was pressed to Piper's chest. "But I'll take him now. Tell me where he is, and maybe you'll even get out of this with everything still functional."

He could see Piper tense up, obviously thinking things over for a moment, then nodding. "Fine. I'll take you to him. If you want to spend the entire drive there pointing that thing at me, be my guest."

Len considered that for a moment, then lowered the gun. Piper didn't look like he wanted to pick a fight anymore. By now his best chance of getting out of this was to give Len what he wanted, and smart as the guy was, he'd likely figured that out on his own. If Barry was around, he'd surely protest Len shooting anything vital off of Piper, and since Len didn't feel like scaring Barry off a second time right away, Piper would be safe. Relatively. That was, if Piper had said the truth and actually _was_ close to Barry. Had actually kissed him—

Len shoved the muzzle against Piper's chest one more time before lowering the gun, powering it down.

"Lead the way," he growled, finger still itching to pull the trigger.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Hartley couldn't have been gone for more than an hour or two, and Barry was already bored out of his mind. Bored and nervous enough that his entire body felt like it was tingling, thrumming with energy. He'd stopped pacing through the room, but only because he'd noticed that he'd been doing so at a pace people usually only reached with their car on the highway.

That was to say, very fast.

This strange energy inside of him, this speed, it was definitely tied to his emotions. And right now, Barry was about ready to vibrate out of his own skin. Just, not literally, he hoped.

Was Hartley alright? Had he found Len already?

Was _Len_ alright?

God, Len had to be so worried at this point. Barry felt so silly now, running off like a child, just because of a simple nightmare.

A nightmare that had felt very real and that he could still remember very clearly. The black-clad speedster beating him down, pushing his creepy claw-like hand into Barry's stomach—

Barry shuddered at the mere memory. He'd really thought he would die in that moment.

Except he hadn't, because that had just been a dream.

Still, every time he thought of it, he felt uneasy. Cold, haunted, as if it still wasn't over.

Barry sighed heavily and tried once more to focus on the book he'd been reading. This whole physics stuff was really interesting, and he even knew some of it already. It was soothing that his memories hadn't left him _completely_.

He immersed himself in the matter of transmission of soundwaves and what else they could possibly do, until he heard faint steps out on the hallway. He looked up, tense with nervousness and worry and hope, half-expecting the steps to pass by and head to a different apartment.

But the door opened, Hartley stepping inside. Barry let out a breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding. Well, that was a tad bit disappointing.

"Hey, Barry," Hartley greeted him, looking a bit miffed and—not closing the door?

A moment later, someone else stepped forward—

"Len!" Barry felt a wide smile light up his face, jumping to his feet to greet his friend, then stuttering to a stop halfway across the room as he noticed the cold gun in Len's right hand. The glowing, definitely powered up cold gun, ready to fire at any second.

Barry frowned, tense, all the elation over seeing Len again gone and replaced by unease.

What was going on? There was no reason for Len to be so _hostile_.

"Barry," Len acknowledged, voice not giving away any emotion, eyes taking in the entire room and then flickering over to Hartley, before finally settling on Barry. Barry felt himself flush a little as he was looked up and down, with that intense kind of attention Len always had. Only then Len's expression got a bit more open. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Barry muttered, not quite daring to take his eyes off the cold gun. Even with a few yards between them, Barry still felt the cold emanating from the weapon, shivering slightly. Actually being shot by that gun had to be pretty damn painful. "Can you stop parading that thing around?"

Instead of giving an answer, Len looked around the room again, then glared at Hartley. After a few more tense moments, he finally powered the gun down, putting it back into its holster.

Barry relaxed then, stepping closer to Len and only at the last moment stopping himself from hugging the other man.

God, he'd _missed_ Len. He wanted to hug him. But Len didn't seem like the kind of person who liked to hug, and also still looked awfully tense.

"I told you, he's fine. Not hurt, not abducted, and not bait for an ambush. Now is the point where you can stop glaring at me like that, _Captain Cold_ ", Hartley piped up from the side.

All that did accomplish was Len's head whipping around, glaring even harder. Hartley raised his hands in mock-defense.

Barry sighed. He knew all of three people, and two of them already couldn't stand each other. _Great_.

"Well, since you're so possessive of Barry, I won't stop you two from leaving now. Just don't forget to get me my chip," Hartley said, then turned around and walked over to the desk, apparently having enough of being glared at.

"Are you handing me out for a chip right now?" Barry asked, feeling a bit put out.

"Yes, he is," Len cut in, voice sharp, one hand curling around Barry's wrist. Barry lamented the fact that Len was wearing gloves. "So we're leaving."

"In a moment," Hartley objected, coming back over and handing a torn off piece of paper over to Barry.

Barry glanced down on the scribble on it, glad that he'd had some time by now to practice deciphering Hartley's handwriting.

"My number. In case you have any brilliant ideas you want to share," Hartley explained, then adding with a sly smirk, "or if you've had enough of that grump. I wouldn't mind to repeat that kiss and go from there."

"Thanks," Barry muttered dryly, not all that impressed with Hartley's flirting. But he couldn't quite stop himself from smiling.

He only knew three people, and that one of them accepted him as a friend, of sorts, meant—a lot. He felt all warm and fuzzy inside.

The next moment, he was practically dragged out by Len, waving.

"I'll call you!" He called out, pushing the scrap into a pocket on the pants he'd borrowed from Hartley—they fit a lot better than Len's, though the shirt was a bit short.

He saw Hartley wave back, then Len was pulling him around the next corner. Barry stumbled a bit, turning around. He wasn't quite sure if he was still happy enough to see Len again to overlook that terribly rude behavior. In the end he decided that he wasn't.

"What was that about, Len?" He asked, brows furrowed slightly.

He didn't quite expect Len to glare at him for that. "I could ask you the same question," Len growled, sounding more upset than Barry had expected. "First you run off, then I have to look for you all day until I find out you're busy playing house with Pied Piper?"

"We weren't—" Barry protested, cut off when Len starting stomping down the stairs. It was unsettling to see. Len had always been so composed up until now. "I was just—I had this strange nightmare, and it felt so _real_ , and then you pointed that gun at me, I didn't think, I know, I just _ran_ because I didn't know what to do. And then there were these two hero guys after me, and they were about to catch me when Hartley showed up and helped me get away."

"A nightmare?" Len asked, and Barry was worried for a moment that Len would chew him out for being so childish, until he noticed the slight concern in Len's expression.

"Yeah. It was—weird and all jumbled up and then there was this speedster in a black suit who—beat me up pretty badly. I couldn't stop him. And it felt so real, I just couldn't shake it off, even after I woke up."

Len gave his wrist a gentle squeeze. "You have many of those nightmares?"

"No," Barry shook his head. "I haven't been sleeping well, and it's probably not helping that I'm somewhere else every night, but that nightmare was the first. Hopefully the last one, too."

"Yes. Hopefully," Len muttered darkly. "Now, those heroes. Did they see your face?"

"Probably," Barry shrugged, looking down at his feet, taking in his shoes and the grubby stairs. "But they—they knew my _name_ , Len."

That was something Barry had avoided thinking about until now. It worried him. How did those two know his name? Had they been friends, before? Or enemies?

Len glanced over at him, a worried crease between his brows. "You _talked_ to them?"

"No, they just. They called for me. Then I ran."

Len hummed in thought. "Guess you knew them before. But I don't know from where, or how. You should stay away from them until we know more, just to be safe."

Barry nodded in agreement, walking past Len out of the apartment complex and shivering in the cold night air. "Yeah, you're probably right. I don't much feel like being chased through the city by them again. That wasn't very nice."

"I bet," Len answered with a wry grin, finally looking more relaxed. Barry wondered what all that hostility had been about.

They walked over to Len's motorcycle, where Len handed a jacket and helmet to Barry.

"One last question about your little outside adventure," Len started as Barry gratefully snuggled into the warm jacket. Not as warm as Len's parka looked, but still comfy.

"Hm?"

"You kissed Piper?"

Barry felt a warm flush rise to his cheeks at Len's very direct question. After all, it had been his first kiss of sorts. He was allowed to be a little nervous about that.

He shrugged. "That flying guy—with a mechanical suit, though the fiery one was there as well—he pretty much cornered me, and as it turns out, fake-making out against a wall actually does work to throw pursuers off. Except there wasn't much fake to it."

Len grunted, face unreadable once more. Probably looking a bit angry, if Barry were to guess, but Len always looked a bit angry. Except if he was—

"Are you _jealous_?" Barry asked, tone just teasing enough to play it off as a joke in case Len was upset over something else. But if it actually was about the kiss—Barry's heart sped up at the mere thought of it. That was a _very_ interesting idea.

Now that he thought about it, he wouldn't mind kissing Len at all—

"You can do better than Pied Piper, kid," Len muttered, pulling on his helmet, and that was—really not at all what Barry had hoped to hear. Or was Len just trying to play off his jealousy? It was hard to tell, impossible to read Len's expression now that the other was wearing a helmet. And being called a _kid_ certainly didn't sound too encouraging.

Barry sighed and pulled on his own helmet. He'd just have to try again later.

Because now that he'd thought about it once, the thought of kissing Len just wouldn't leave his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> University is keeping me pretty busy, but it seems like I can handle one chapter per week. Yay! =D
> 
> Now that Barry's thinking about how he and Len "worked together" before the amnesia, I'm almost regretting not writing that instead. Imagine Barry's amazing life as CSI/criminal accomplice. Imagine the absolutely terrible excuses trying to hide things from Joe. It'd be amazing.
> 
> Hartley's going to show up again at some point, which it to about 80% because the poor guy deserves some friends, and to about 20% because I love messing with jealous Len :3  
> Also because I found that old script of the first episode where Hartley was still working at STAR Labs, and now I'm just so sad we didn't get to see that.


	9. Survival Instinct

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: More dissociating and something that might or not be considered self harm. Am I being overly dramatic with this? Yeah, probably.

The ride back to Len's safe house was quiet. Quiet and, kind of, sort of very uncomfortable.

Thinking about kissing Len before having to spend half an hour pressed closely against the man's back hadn't been Barry's smartest move.

That embarrassment was replaced by panic when Firestorm flew over their heads at one point, but the hero didn't take notice of them. They looked just like two ordinary people on a motorcycle, after all. Still, Barry didn't loosen his hold around Len's middle until they came to a stop in front of the safe house.

He blew warm air against his cold fingers as they walked inside, feeling oddly comforted by the familiarity of everything. It was his fourth night since getting amnesia, and this was the place he knew best.

The place that came closest to a home.

Except for Len himself, maybe.

He pulled off his jacket and shoes, yawning as he looked over at Len.

"Thank you for picking me up." _And looking for me_ , went unsaid between them, but Barry knew Len got what he meant.

"Just don't run off again," Len muttered. "I need my sleep and so do you. If you have another nightmare, you can come and talk."

"I will. If you don't aim that creepy gun at me again," Barry gave back with a teasing smile. Though that was actually something he was very serious about.

"Gonna' do that if you don't zip into my room like that anymore," Len teased back, both of them trudging up the stairs.

God, Barry really was tired.

"I'll try my best," Barry mumbled, heading for his room. "Good night, Len."

He heard a responding grumble from the other man, before closing the door behind him. Barry peeled off Hartley's paints, shirt and socks, placed the scrap of paper on his bedside table and fell into bed.

The soft, warm, blessedly _familiar_ bed.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

He wasn't fast enough.

 _The fastest man alive_? Who was he kidding. He couldn't outrun the man in the black suit.

He knew what was coming this time, he _remembered_ it. And he tried to fight back, with everything he had, but to no avail.

Just like last time, he could feel his ribs cracking, bones shattering, organs and skin bruising under countless attacks that were too fast even for him to see coming.

The final hit to his spine, immobilizing him. The prick of a needle on his chest, zapping his energy.

Being dragged around, feeling his consciousness slipping...

Sharp claws piercing his stomach, tearing at his flesh.

Feeling dizzy, in _pain_ , so much pain.

Then blackness.

When Barry opened his eyes again, he was looking at two unfamiliar faces. A woman with brown hair and wide eyes, and a guy with longish black hair. Barry didn't know either of them.

But he was talking to them, he knew that he was, he just couldn't hear the words. All he knew was that they were worried, worried for _him_ … Were they his friends?

The young man put his hand on Barry's leg, still talking, and Barry frowned.

He— He couldn't—

_He couldn't feel his legs._

He saw the man's and woman's eyes go wide with worry, felt the panic well up inside of himself and at the same time was too tired, too exhausted, to helpless to do anything about it.

Not that there was anything he could do, he was _paralyzed_ —

The speedster in the black suit hadn't just beaten him in a fight, he'd taken Barry's _speed_ , his _legs_ —

Barry sucked in a sharp breath, blinked and when he opened his eyes again, he was lying in his bed at Len's safe house.

Immediately, he clutched his legs, fingers digging into his skin hard enough to hurt. It hurt and it was so relieving to feel, to _feel his legs_ —

Just another nightmare.

It had just been another nightmare, he told himself. It couldn't be real. Not the man in the black suit who was so fast, not that fight, not being paralyzed.

It couldn't be. People didn't heal from that, Barry knew that much. And he could feel his legs.

He could feel his legs.

He wasn't paralyzed.

Just a bad memory, no, a bad _dream_ —

He dug his fingers in harder, only stopping when he noticed that he was leaving angry red scratches behind, one or two of them bleeding a little.

He hadn't intended to do that.

He pulled his hands away from his legs, a faint sting remaining. Painful but soothing. A constant reminder that he could still feel...

He dug his fingers in again, reminding himself that what he'd seen hadn't been real. Couldn't have been real.

A cold numbness spread through his body as he sat there, trying to fight the panic down.

His fingers felt like cotton. His mind oddly detached from everything. Just a bit of fear remaining, deep down, simmering.

It was calming, not to feel anything, and at the same time Barry was concerned, knowing that he _should_ feel _something_. This wasn't right.

He stayed as he was, touching his legs, for what might have been a minute or might have been an hour, until his breathing slowed down.

It couldn't have been real. There was no reason to panic, no reason to feel as haunted as he did.

When he finally got himself to get up, the sun was shining outside, lighting up his room. Barry frowned a little. Had the sun been up before? He couldn't say for sure.

He patted down the stairs, still feeling a bit weird, floaty and light-headed, but not as bad as before. He reached down, brushing his fingers over his thighs every few seconds, to keep himself focused. Grounded in reality.

It couldn't have been real. Just a bad dream.

"You look like shit," Len greeted him, peeking out from the living room.

Barry blinked, meeting Len's gaze for only a moment before glancing at his own feet instead. He noted that he was wearing clothes, but couldn't remember putting them on. It felt wrong, he hadn't been wearing anything, only covered by a blanket when the guy had touched his leg and Barry hadn't felt it—

"Barry?"

Len's voice again, startling him from his thoughts—memories— _dreams_. Barry hadn't noticed Len getting up and coming so close. Close enough to reach out after a short moment of hesitance and touch Barry's arm.

Barry brushed his fingers over his thighs. He could still feel them, he was standing. He was _fine_.

"What's wrong?" Len. Again. Sounding concerned.

Barry frowned, knew that he should answer, but his mouth felt dry and slow and _foreign_. Not his own, not his mouth, not his legs, not his fight, not his injury—

" _Barry_."

Len's voice, sharp now. Two hands gripping Barry's shoulders. Barry brushed his hands over his legs.

Swallowed. Took a deep breath.

"I'm feeling weird," he mumbled, looking up at Len for all of one second before he couldn't stand his friend's worried, conflicted expression anymore.

His body felt so strange, like a puppet, like it wasn't his own. Not his own legs, and Barry couldn't decide if it was because he could feel them or because he couldn't.

"You dissociating again? Is it like back then?" Len asked, voice slower now, softer. Barry kind of liked it. Len's voice, that was, not the worry in it.

Barry skimmed his fingers over his legs. Needed a moment to remind himself that he'd been asked a question, and then another to think of an answer and how to voice it. Slowly, he nodded.

"It's similar," he murmured.

He picked up motion from Len—a nod, maybe?—then felt a tug at his arms, being led over to the couch. He sat down on it and pulled up his legs, hands instantly going back, feeling the warmth on his palms and on his calves. He stayed like that. That was better. Reminded him that the other thing had just been a dream.

"Do you— Is that _blood_?" Len again. Barry inspected his own fingers, taking in the little bit of blood under his nails. Len was apparently very observant.

He took a deep breath, tried to focus on Len's voice, on what had been said, to let it ground him. It was a bit scary, to be so untethered from his own body, from what was going on around him.

It felt as if he was still dreaming, even now.

"Accident," Barry mumbled quietly, brushing his fingers over his thighs, where he'd left tiny red crescents with his nails—

Couldn't feel them. They were gone.

Barry felt his body tense up, running his hands up and down his thighs, pressing his fingers in to feel the familiar sting, to find the small scratches that _had_ to be there—

He hadn't felt his legs, but that had just been a dream. He'd woken up and felt them and left tiny scratches and those had to still be there, this was _real_ , it had to be real—

"Barry." Len's hands, covering his own. Holding them in place. Warming his legs as well.

"They're _gone_ ," Barry choked out, only now realizing that his chest felt too tight, that his breath was coming out in short gasps.

"The wounds?" Len asked, and Barry nodded.

They couldn't be gone, that wasn't possible, he still felt his legs and this had to be real—

"You heal fast," Len said, voice loud but still soft, words slow and clear. "You hear me, Barry? You're a speedster. Your wounds heal fast. They've _healed_."

Barry swallowed, felt his heart hammering in his chest. Tried to slow his breathing. To focus on Len's warm hands on his legs. He could feel those. This was real. The rest had just been a dream.

"I had a nightmare," he got out, voice trembling slightly, fingers clenching nervously under Len's. "I couldn't feel my legs anymore."

"It was just a dream, Barry. You're okay," Len spoke. "Is that why you hurt yourself?"

Barry nodded, despite not liking how it sounded when Len said it like that. It hadn't been like _that_. "Needed to make sure I could still feel them."

Len nodded, as if he understood. Barry wasn't sure if he really did. "You need some time to come back to yourself?"

Barry tried to focus, then nodded again. It felt difficult, not to get lost in his own thoughts.

"Can you keep talking to me?" Len asked, voice low and soft. Barry really liked the sound of it. "You seem pretty spaced out, and Shawna will have my head if I slap you again instead of talking to you."

Barry felt the hint of a smile tugging at his lips, before it got lost again in the cotton that seemed to fill up his body. "About what?" He asked when he finally managed to use his mouth.

"Anything's fine," Len hummed, hands moving on from Barry's thighs to his knees. "How about food? Or anything else you can think of?"

Barry considered the thought for a moment. Food sounded good. Considering how long he hadn't eaten, he should actually be pretty hungry. It was hard to tell, when he felt so removed from his own body. It was probably due to his super speed that he had to eat so much. He'd noticed over the last few days that he ate almost three times as much as Len. And that was while he hadn't been using his speed. He'd felt pretty hungry after using it to run through the city. Run from those two heroes who had been after him.

He wondered why they had done that. They had known his name, so mistaking him for the Flash or the man in the black suit couldn't be the reason. How had they even found out his name? Should he be worried? He wasn't staying at his place, wherever that was, but if they knew who he was, wouldn't they come after his friends, his family? All people Barry couldn't remember now, but he still didn't want them to get hurt, or in trouble.

Would those heroes threaten them? Ask them questions? Actually try to harm them? The last option didn't seem all that hero-like, but they had also locked up Hartley and Shawna in their private prison. That wasn't hero-like, either. Heroes should help people. Not lock them away, just for having powers and making some bad choices. If the heroes did that to nice people like Hartley and Shawna, then what was Barry's family to do? Joe and Iris West? Joe West was a cop. Would he be able to defend them? Would the heroes leave a cop alone, someone on the other side of the law?

Then again, people could be cops _and_ criminals. Barry himself was. Was he safe from them? Had they been looking for him to lock him up? Did they know of his involvement with Len?

Barry frowned, something tugging at his mind. Len... There was something.

He looked up from his knees, finding that Len was sitting next to him on the couch, a worried frown on the man's face. Was something wrong?

Len was looking at him with such an unhappy expression. Had Barry done something wrong? Now that he tried to think about it, there was something he was supposed to do.

Len had asked him something, right?

Barry gnawed on his lower lip.

 _Talk_. He was supposed to talk to Len, right. Just how long had he been occupied with his own thoughts? How long had Len been waiting for him to say something? Or hadn't Len been waiting at all? What if all the thoughts had gone through Barry's head at super speed? That was possible, right? His powers were pretty volatile at times, he couldn't always control them. Like the vibrating in his fingers that always happened when he got too upset. It had happened after the nightmare and when he—

No. No, he was supposed to _talk_.

No more getting lost in thinking, in the endless possibilities. In his nightmares and the fear and those two unknown faces—

Something tapped his calf, and Barry looked over at Len, startled. Took in how Len's brows were drawn together, expression tight.

No wonder. Barry was doing a terrible job at talking.

He breathed in, opened his mouth to go with the first thing that came to his mind.

"I like pizza," he murmured. "I can't remember ever having pizza, but I know I like it. With pepperoni. And jalapeños. And olives."

"We can have pizza one of these days," Len offered almost immediately, and Barry's stomach growled in response. Odd, he still didn't feel hungry. But Len looked less upset now, almost relieved. Which made Barry wonder once more just how long he's spaced out—which he wasn't going to do again.

"And I like sushi. But I'm not sure if I can eat with chopsticks."

"We can have sushi, too."

Barry frowned a little, biting down on his lower lip. "We can't eat that much at once."

"Pretty sure you can, Barry," Len grinned at him, and Barry chuckled softly in response. "We can get pizza or sushi one of these days. Just need to get you some vegetables, too."

"Now you sound like my..." Barry trailed off. He couldn't remember anyone to compare Len to. A parental figure, maybe? He didn't know. His mother had been dead for years, as far as he could remember, and his father was—or had been?—in prison for it. Which left his foster father, Joe West, but being a foster father didn't have to mean that Joe West had been particularly fatherly. Or maybe—

"I sound like a responsible adult. Which you should be, too, by the way," Len cut in before Barry could get lost in his thoughts again. "We can have pizza the day after tomorrow, how does that sound? To celebrate a heist gone right."

"You're going to steal that jewelry in two days already?" Barry asked. He hadn't realized it would happen that soon. But it was an important topic, engaging. Something he could focus on, and doing so made his mind feel that much clearer.

Len shrugged. "That's when it'll be moved. I don't pick the date, Barry."

"When are you going to get that chip Hartley wants so much?"

Len raised his brows. "You really want me to get that stuck-up twit the chip he asked for?"

"He did save my ass," Barry reminded Len. "Besides, I think he needs it for his hearing aids? Those are really important for him. I think you should get it."

"Fine, I'll look into it," Len muttered. "Though I could've saved your ass, too. If you hadn't run off."

"By not-so-fake making out against a wall with me?" Barry asked dryly.

"I certainly wouldn't've _minded_ ," Len purred, grin turning wolfish at the suggestion.

Barry felt a hot flush rise to his cheeks, suddenly very aware of how close Len was sitting to him.

A moment later, Len chuckled, patting Barry's leg before getting up. "Looks like you're doing better," he remarked.

Barry contemplated that for a moment. He still felt a bit out of it, a bit dislodged from what he was hearing and seeing and feeling. But all in all, it was a lot better than it had been before.

"Guess so," he muttered.

"Good," Len answered. "You want some breakfast? You have to be pretty hungry by now."

Barry didn't really feel all that hungry, but he did remember his stomach growling at some point earlier. At least he thought so. He wasn't completely sure.

He rubbed his temples, trying to clear his thoughts. To shake off the phantom sensations and the two faces he didn't know and the not-feeling in his legs.

He nodded. "Yeah. Food sounds good."

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

"You do realize I'm not a psychiatrist, yes? I didn't even finish med school, Snart."

"I'm aware," Snart muttered, the familiar drawl to his voice but softer than usual. "But Barry's dissociated again this morning and you _do_ know more about this than we do, Shawna."

Shawna sighed heavily. _Barry_ , of course. Not wanting to piss Snart off aside, she didn't want Barry to go without help in this. Even if her help wasn't particularly qualified. " _Fine_. My shift's about to start, but you can drag your asses over here around 8, and I'll talk to him."

"We'll be there," Snart's reply came, and then a beep from her phone when he ended the call.

At 8 pm, Shawna was tired, worked to the bone, and just about ready to lay down and sleep for the rest of the week. But during work she'd gotten a text, a nearby address that had to be one of Snart's safe houses. She teleported most of the way, mindful not to let anyone see her—something was up with the heroes, they'd been flying all over the city for days now—and knocked. Once the door opened, she was greeted by Snart's grim expression and Barry's inviting smile, though it did seem a bit faint.

The place looked run-down and not particularly lived in, and with Snart's usual distrust of everything, Shawna was pretty sure he didn't actually stay here, just didn't want to reveal his and Barry's actual location to her. She could live with that.

After getting a rough summary of what had happened, she sent Snart out into the hallway, as bluntly as she dared. This was a rather private matter for Barry, after all. She didn't even want to imagine what it had to be like, losing all of one's memories, one's own entire existence. Everything just wiped clean.

She sat down on the couch that Barry was occupying, a good bit of distance between them.

"So," she started, trying for an open smile. "You've dissociated again."

"Mhm", Barry hummed in agreement. Shawna saw his fingers twitch nervously, skimming over his leg. "I had this—nightmare. A pretty bad one. I had it once before already and it just seemed so real, I—I don't know. I was pretty upset afterwards, and then things just felt—unreal."

"You've had the same dream—nightmare—twice?" Shawna asked, taking in how Barry tensed up as he nodded.

"Yeah... Not the exact same one, but there was this one—I don't know, _scene_ , that I've dreamt of before. Basically just me being beaten to a pulp by this other guy. And even when I wake up, I still feel like I'm not safe."

Shawna frowned a little. Having a recurring dream like that was pretty unusual, but maybe in Barry's situation... "Have you considered that it's not a dream, but a memory?"

Barry tensed even more, eyes going wide. "No! No, I mean—that can't be, right? Memories don't come back like that? And something like that couldn't—can't be real."

"Usually they don't. But with retrograde amnesia, I don't know... You know I'm not an expert on this. And I'm not saying that it _is_ a memory. Just, it could be."

"Why, out of everything I've forgotten, about my friends, my family, and _myself_ , would I remember having the life beaten out of me?" Barry sounded upset, hands gripping his legs, and Shawna got the feeling that Barry mostly didn't _want_ that dream to be real.

"It'd make sense," she tried to explain. "See, I know it's not what you want to remember, but—you're getting hurt in that memory, right? You're scared and it's bad. Maybe one of the worst things to ever happen to you. And that's exactly why you pick up on it first. So you know what and who is dangerous to you, so you can avoid it. It's not as nice as remembering your favorite food or your best friend, but those aren't essential for you to survive. Knowing what can hurt you _is_."

Barry's face scrunched up into a frown, eyes wide. "But it can't be real. It's not—it's not something that's _possible_."

Shawna shrugged. "Maybe it's not entirely correct. Your memory is pretty messed up after all. Maybe it's exaggerated, or some elements are switched out, or maybe I'm wrong and it's not a memory at all. No way to tell for sure."

Barry made an unhappy noise, curling in more on himself.

"I'm sorry. Pretty sure all of this sucks for you," she murmured after a long moment of silence.

"Thanks." Barry smiled at her, a small upwards twitch of his lips before it vanished again. "You know, I've been meaning to ask... Only if you want to answer, of course," an unsure glance, and Shawna nodded. "Being locked up by the Flash, what was it like?

Huh. She hadn't expected that.

She hesitated for a moment. It wasn't a time she particularly liked to think of. So many months of her life, just— _lost_.

"Not much to tell, really," she started, voice quiet. She wasn't sure how much Snart had told Barry about her and her powers, and how much would scare Barry off. "Mostly I just sat around in that tiny cell. There were others there, too. I could hear them occasionally. I actually almost got out once, but then I fucked it up. I'm just glad I made it, eventually. Wouldn't've wanted to end up on a different continent."

"I can't believe the Flash would do that to people," Barry murmured, pulling his legs up onto the couch. "I mean—why do people even call him a hero?"

Shawna laughed dryly. "He saves the day and puts away the bad guys. 'Course he's the fucking hero."

"Len said you _stole_ things. And just because you have powers, he came after you." Barry frowned at her, obviously upset. "He can't _do_ that. Not to you, not to anyone."

"Relax, Barry," Shawna smiled softly, sadly. It was a bit endearing, how upset Barry got over an injustice that hadn't even happened to him himself. But to a random thief. She wondered if that was why Snart had taken a liking to him. "I appreciate your concern, and I don't like the Flash any more than the next person he locked up, but Len gave you the pretty version."

Barry's brows raised in disbelief. "What exactly is the 'ugly version' of him locking you away without trial?"

"No pretty version to that. I didn't mean to say that _I_ wanted to go there. But I was probably the nicest of the bunch. Tried to get rid of the Flash, and that one woman when I tried to break out of his little private prison, but I think the others are worse. I don't mean to defend the Flash, I really don't, but some of them—I'd feel better if some of them weren't on the streets. Not in his prison, either, just. I don't know. They seemed dangerous. Well, those that survived the whole thing, anyway."

She could see Barry pale and tense up even more. "He _kills_ some of them?" He hissed, voice high and distressed.

"Guess so. I've heard that the police found the bodies of a few powered people after fights with the Flash. If there was a body left. There's this crazy rumor that the Flash turned one of them into nothing but _dust_. And some of them just disappear, and then you never hear from them again."

"That's fucked up. And that's supposed to be the good guy?" Barry looked upset, pulling his legs closer to his chest. "I hope I never run into him."

"I'm sure you'll be fine," Shawna tried. She'd meant to help Barry relax and now she'd worried him even more with the horror stories of the Flash. _Great_. "Your man out there, Snart, always seems to come out on top when they tangle. And then one time, this other spee—"

The door opened and Snart peeked in. "You done soon? Hallway's not all that interesting."

Shawna glanced at Barry, who nodded.

"Yeah, come on in," she answered. It was probably for the best that Snart was interrupting now. With Barry's reaction to the Flash, telling him about the other speedster in the black suit would have only upset him even more. Even if it was a very interesting story.

Snart nodded curtly, stepping inside. "Barry, mind waiting outside for a moment?"

A bit confused, Barry nodded, then left.

Shawna raised a curious eyebrow at Snart. Obviously this was about something the older man didn't want Barry to hear. "What is it?"

"Barry." Obviously. "He's hurt himself."

Shawna's eyes went wide. "And you didn't tell me this very important thing before _why_ , exactly?"

"I don't think he meant to," Snart huffed, shifting where he was still standing in the middle of the room. "He dissociated and had to pull himself back in. But he's not good. Nightmares. Panics a lot. Ran off once when he got too upset. Feels like he's getting worse instead of better. And I'm not exactly the type to talk to."

Shawna could feel her brows slowly disappearing into her hairline. Captain Cold, admitting that he was bad at something. Captain Cold, unsure and asking for advice. Captain Cold, worried for his cute little friend—who was actually a bit taller, but still. If she ever told anyone about this, she'd probably get iced.

"Who else can he talk to?" She asked after getting over her initial surprise.

Snart shrugged. "You. He also somehow made friends with Pied Piper."

Shawna had heard of that guy. The only one to make it out of the Flash's prison on his own. _Twice_. Barry certainly had a hand in picking interesting friends. _Criminal_ friends. Was that why he was so concerned about the Flash?

"And Piper and me, we're the only ones besides you?"

Snart nodded.

"That's not good. If he isolates himself, he'll only get worse. You probably don't want to hear this, but you should try being a bit more—open."

"Open?" Snart repeated, speaking the word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Shawna nodded resolutely. "Yes, _open_. I know you're Captain Cold, feared criminal, and all that, but Barry really likes and trusts you. You seem to be the main person in his life. If he opens up to you, that'll make things easier. Won't magically fix them, but gives you a chance to help. I don't know about Pied Piper, but I can't always be around. Meaning he's your responsibility."

Snart looked at her, _glared_ to be precise, tense and brows drawn together, lips tight.

"Fine," he ground out after a long moment of silence.

Shawna nodded, letting out a breath of relief. "Good. Call me if anything else comes up, I'll try to make time."

A curt, stiff nod, and Snart turned around. Shawna got up, heading for the door as well. It was cold when the three of stepped out of the building, their breaths rising up as white puffs. No surprise there, it was getting close to New Year's.

Shawna pulled her jacket tighter around herself, turning towards Barry. "You have my number?"

Barry nodded. "Yeah, Len gave it to me."

"Good. Text me whenever you want. Take care of yourself."

She wished him goodbye then, waiting until they'd driven off on Snart's bike before teleporting. She didn't want to accidentally scare Barry off with her powers, after all.

Poor guy really had enough to deal with already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Len was totally eavesdropping from the hallway before Shawna could mention any sensitive issues. Like Zoom being real and that _coincidentally_ , the Flash just so happened to lose a fight against the guy, in pretty much the exact same fashion as Barry dreams. Guess it would be difficult for Len to weasel his way out of that one.
> 
> I rewrote the aftermath of Barry's nightmare pretty much every single day this week, and each time it turned out completely different. At this point, I'm 50% content with it and 50% fed up with working on this part. So here it is. It's not even supposed to be all that important, and mostly there so Barry can remember those "two faces", who you have probably already guessed by now.
> 
> Who else wants to bet that Hartley is like a local legends among the other inmates of the pipeline. Dude got locked up there and made it out _twice_. On his own, without any outside help. That deserves some respect, imho.
> 
> Also starring Shawna playing at being a therapist, which is something I know ridiculously little about, considering I'm currently studying that shit. I'll probably look back at this in a few years and die of embarrassment. Ha ha... :')
> 
> The heist Len is planning is going to take place either next chapter or the one after that... Still have to actually write it out :') Depends on how much else I need to fit in before that. Prepare yourselves for a terrible attempt at writing something vaguely resembling nsfw next chapter. :')


	10. Contact

When Barry woke up the next morning, everything was fine.

He hadn't had a nightmare and thus felt more rested than in days. It was bright in his room from the sun shining in, and he'd have to look into getting some blinds one of these days, but for now it didn't disturb him. It was warm and nice and incredibly comfortable to lie in bed, tangled up in the sheets, trying to find the best spot on his pillow. Preferably not the cold, damp one that he'd apparently drooled on in his sleep.

When he moved, however, he noticed something else. That he instantly knew what it was, despite his amnesia, was only vaguely comforting. He still peeked under the blanket, just to make sure, and yup, no mistaking it.

Morning wood.

With all the stress and nightmares and existential fear of the last few days—all the days he could remember—he hadn't exactly taken some time to get off. Hadn't felt the need to.

But now... Now he did.

So much for his nice, relaxed morning.

Now, there clearly were two options. Try to sneak into the bathroom, take a cold shower and hope for the best, or... well. Getting off. The thought seemed kind of weird now that he couldn't remember ever doing it before. But it held a certain appeal.

He wondered if he could lock his door... Though he had super speed. If worst came to worst, he could simply pull up the covers and pretend to be asleep, before Len would have time to notice anything.

Anything like Barry lying in bed and masturbating. Oh, god.

Barry pushed down the sheets and the loose pants he'd slept in, then stared at his problem for a moment. He sucked his lower lip into his mouth before letting it pop out again, fingers curling nervously at his sides.

Okay, this couldn't be all that difficult. He might not remember his own life, but he still had an idea what parts needed to be touched to get a person off. Not that this particular thought was helping with setting the mood.

Barry sucked in a breath, then brushed his palms over his nipples. As it turned out, that that didn't actually do all that much for him. He wondered for a moment if it should. He had no idea what he liked and disliked in terms of being touched.

No use putting it off, though. The longer he dragged this out, the higher the risk of getting caught.

Barry closed his eyes, slid his fingers down his mostly hard cock, letting out a slow, controlled breath. Okay, this was working.

He wrapped his hand around his dick, stroking up and biting down on his lip at the pleasant prickle that sent through his body. And repeating the motion made it better, more intense. He tightened his grip, got a slow rhythm going for himself, carefully rocking his hips up into his hand.

He dared to sneak a look down, feeling heat rise to his cheeks—wasn't sure if it was because of watching how he was getting himself off or the act itself or how his entire body was starting to feel warmer, breath coming out a little shorter.

With his other hand clenched into the sheets, Barry closed his eyes again, wondering for a moment if this would be the same if he had someone else to do this with. More embarrassing? Or maybe _better_. He didn't know if he'd had sex with anyone before, and now the only memory he could draw on was kissing Hartley, pushed against a wall, adrenaline cursing through his body from being chased—Barry whined when the image sent sparks down his spine.

Hartley's mouth against his, soft and warm and so unexpectedly _into it_ , considering their situation, teeth nipping at Barry's lower lip before Hartley's tongue had darted out, wet and even hotter. And then Len's suggestion to _help him out_ , instead of Hartley. _Len_ pushing him up against that wall instead, kissing Barry like that—

Barry gasped, gripping himself tighter, his hand stuttering in its movements. Thinking up a scenario like that while also having to focus on touching himself was surprisingly difficult, but now that he'd imagined Len in that position once, he didn't feel at all inclined to stop. Len being hot had been pretty much the first thing to go through his mind when he'd first seen the man, and despite them being friends, Len hadn't seemed to mind Barry ogling his naked torso...

Len without a shirt, _oh_. Wide shoulders and all that muscle, the dark curling patterns of the older man's tattoos, _that_ pressing Barry against a wall was an even nicer image. Barry's hand sped up along his cock. Len half-naked, warm skin pressed against Barry's as they kissed. Like Hartley had, or maybe differently, more intense. Passionate and loving and _wanting_.

Would Len's skin feel hot against his own, fueling the heat curling in Barry's stomach? Or cold, like Len's alias suggested? Barry shuddered, swallowed down a moan, decided that he'd like either. Just as long as Len _would_ touch him. Press him against a wall, or maybe here, down into this bed. Propped up over Barry, close enough that Barry would be able to lean in and taste Len's lips, see his eyes, focused on him with that incredibly sharp kind of attention, but all with the goal of making him feel good.

Barry gasped, dragged his thumb over the head of his cock, found that he liked that quite a lot. He repeated the action in between stroking himself faster and faster, all the while picturing Len, his hands on Len's shoulders, pulling the other man closer. Imagined how Len would go with it, lean in, that muscled chest pressing against Barry's, calloused hands sliding over Barry's skin, then moving down, touching Barry's cock like he was doing right now.

Or maybe Len would just watch. Eyes on Barry as he got himself off. The same kind of focus, lips curled into that smug smirk Len wore so often, voice a low and rough rumble in Barry's ears. Telling Barry _exactly_ what to do, how to touch himself. To move his hand faster, drag his thumb through the precome now beading at the head. Those gray eyes taking in how Barry shuddered from that, telling him to do it again, telling him to come now that he was so close—

Barry's fingers twitched at the mental image, starting to vibrate, and Barry's whine turned into a yelp of surprise which he bit back down immediately, hips rocking up into the unexpected sensation that was good, _so good_ , once, twice, before he was coming, head dropping back against the bed.

A moment later, the vibration stopped again, and Barry just lay there, eyes mostly closed, trying to catch his breath. That last part certainly wasn't something he had expected. But jerking off in the morning was going to be a lot more interesting like this—

Steps out in the hallway, then a knock on his door und Len's voice. "Everything okay?"

Oh, _shit_.

Barry flushed brightly, suddenly very aware of the cooling, sticky come on his stomach and hand. He grabbed his blanket, pulling it up to under his chin, thankful for the crackle of super speed. He cleared his throat, hoping beyond hope that nothing would give away to Len what Barry had just done.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good," he called out, voice cracking a little. Barry coughed again.

"Another nightmare?" Len asked from outside, and yeah, he had definitely heard that noise Barry had made, and that had to be just about the most mortifying thing ever. At this point Barry was grateful that Len assumed he'd woken up screaming from a nightmare.

"No, no, I just—" he started, not wanting Len to worry unnecessarily and then looking for a believable excuse, pulling the sheet up even higher just to be safe. "I just got tangled up in the sheet and almost fell out of bed."

The door opened and Len poked his head in, one brow arched in suspicion. "Yeah? Shawna said you should talk to me, if you're upset."

"I'm fine, Len. Really. Thanks for asking." Oh, god, Len was doing his best to be friendly and accommodating. And it would be so nice and sweet, if Barry wasn't currently trying to hide that he had just gotten off. He forced himself to smile, hoped that Len would just believe him. Barry could feel his heart hammering away in his chest, hoped that his face didn't look _too_ red under that searching glare, even though that was likely a lost cause.

"If you say so," Len relented after a few more, way too long moments. Barry let out a sigh of relief, feeling some of the tension leave his body. "I was about to make breakfast. You hungry?"

Barry nodded, sinking deeper into his bed, feeling incredibly relieved that Len was leaving. _Relieved_. Ha, ha. Oh, god.

"Thanks. I'll be down in a—in a few minutes."

He watched Len leave, waited a few moments after hearing steps on the stairs, before flashing out of his room, into the shower. Under the warm water he resolved that he definitely had to find a better solution for this than— _this_. A better emergency plan than hiding in his bed. He sure hoped he hadn't gotten anything on the bedding.

Showering thankfully only took a minute with his powers—while making plans on how to act around Len, now that he'd just jerked off to a mental image of Len telling him to do so.

He sure had one very embarrassing day ahead of himself.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Barry was not doing any better. That much was obvious, even though Len didn't really want to acknowledge it. The dissociation episode the day before had been more than enough proof of that.

And now Barry was acting strange again. Not in the spaced out way like yesterday, but still—strange. Startled every time Len addressed him, avoiding eye contact, not talking as much as usual...

If the kid didn't still put away everything Len had cooked up for breakfast, he would be seriously worried. More than he already was.

When he had first lied to Barry that night, he hadn't quite expected it to have such negative effects on the speedster. A miscalculation on his part, a serious one. Len could admit that much.

They spent the day mostly in companionable silence, Barry watching TV or reading, while Len himself finalized the details for the heist the upcoming day. Occasionally, he'd ask Barry a question, though Barry didn't have an answer most times.

If this was one of his usual heists, Len wouldn't go through with this so soon and with so little research, but this heist was mostly to see how well Barry's information checked out. He'd probably be able to pull it off without any intel just as well.

"Where will I be in all of this?" Barry asked at some point in the late afternoon, drawing Len's attention away from the map he'd been studying.

Len looked up at the young man perched on his couch, brows furrowing as the question hardly made any sense. "Wherever you want. Here, or upstairs in your room. You could move into the kitchen full time, I've seen you flash in there to grab food all day."

"So I'm supposed to stay here? I'm not coming with you?" Barry asked, an unhappy pout settling on his face. "But with my super speed—"

"Which you can't use reliably and don't want anyone to find out about. I told you, you work behind the scenes. No practical involvement."

Barry was still frowning at him, worrying his lower lip. "So what, you're going to do this all alone? That doesn't sound smart."

"It's just a simple jewelry transport. They don't expect any trouble. I'll grab the stuff and be out of there in under a minute, they won't even know it was me. No big deal, Barry," Len explained, smoothing his hand over the map laid out in front of him. "In case I should get caught—which is rather unlikely—I've set up some things to keep you afloat until I break out. Don't worry."

"I'm not worried about that part! Well, now that you've mentioned it, I kinda' am, but—" Barry protested, leaning forward on the couch. "I'm worried they'll get you! You can't drive and shoot and steal something all at once. What if you end up arrested and have to go to prison?"

"Been there, done that. Not interested in a repeat. And I can get out of there in a week, tops."

"But—I don't know. I don't like it, Len," Barry muttered sullenly, and Len acknowledged that, even though it didn't change anything. "Just, remember that you promised not to seriously injure anyone."

Len sighed. Apparently, not even completely losing his memory was going to stop Barry from being an annoying goody two-shoes. "Don't plan on it. Stop worrying."

Barry grumbled something under his breath that Len didn't quite catch—something along the lines of 'can't believe it'd be you of all people, yadda yadda'.

Len pinched the bridge of his nose. It did make sense that Barry was worried. After all he didn't know about Len's skill, or how easy this heist was in comparison to some of Len's other jobs. And of course he wouldn't want to see Len locked up, since he was—as Shawna had so nicely put it— _relying on Len_.

"You want to stay with Shawna tomorrow while I'm gone?" Len suggested. He wasn't too keen on the idea of Barry spending too much time with the other meta. Considering how much Shawna knew about the Flash and how some of that corroborated a lot with what Barry could remember, and especially without Len there to check in every once in a while, there was a risk that Barry would figure out he was the Flash.

But as long as it would keep Barry from freaking out and doing something stupid—like running off again, straight into the arm of his former hero-friends—Len was willing to let Barry have that much.

Much to his relief, Barry shook his head. "No, I'm pretty sure Shawna has to work tomorrow. Or doesn't have to, but then she'll want to get some rest. But I could ask Hartley if he wants some company."

Len's face scrunched up with dislike. Why, of all the people in Central City, did Barry have to make friends with that annoying, stuck-up twit?

"I mean, I don't have to, of course, I'm perfectly fine on my own—"

" _Fine_ ," Len growled. "Go and visit the douchebag. I'll drive you there and pick you up once I'm done."

Barry nodded, a happy smile on his face as he dashed off. Probably to text the douchebag.

Sighing heavily, Len leant back in his chair. Maybe he'd be lucky and Hartley wouldn't actually want Barry to visit him again. Or Barry would see reason and not want to hang out with a guy who was, even by Len's standards, an arrogant prick. Who had kissed Barry.

Which was not at all the problem here. The problem was that Pied Piper might let slip too much information about the Flash, and Barry might put two and two together. If Piper didn't know about Barry being the Flash already, which would be a catastrophe in and of itself.

Of course, Len could tell Barry not to visit Rathaway again, but it was questionable if that would work out. Of course Barry wouldn't want to risk being all alone, in case Len got arrested. And there were not many friends for Barry to choose from. Just, did it really have to be the guy who'd kissed Barry, and did Barry have to look so overjoyed about getting to see him again?

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Unfortunately, Rathaway didn't say no and Barry didn't see reason.

Which was why Len was driving to Rathaway's dump of an apartment the next morning, Barry's arms wrapped tightly around his middle. For now.

He'd handed Barry a credit card over breakfast, with enough money to keep Barry over for a week or two. Just in case things really did go south, which they really shouldn't. After all, there wouldn't be a Flash to try and stop Len. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Barry was greeted by Rathaway with a hug that went on for far longer than necessary, which Rathaway was very much aware of, if the smug smirk he was giving Len behind Barry's back was any indication.

"I should be back around 7 pm at the latest. If not, I'm sure you'll get details on the news," Len muttered, waiting for Barry to finally pull away from Rathaway, an encouraging smile on Barry's face though Len could see the tightness to his jaw.

"Yeah, I'll be here. Just. Just be careful, okay?" Barry asked, eyes wide and earnest.

Worried.

For _Len_.

Len chuckled dryly, feeling a bit consoled as he walked away. "'Course. Wouldn't let Pied Piper keep one of my favorite partners in crime. See you later, Barry."

"Good luck!" Barry called after him, and Len couldn't help but smirk. The Flash was wishing him good luck with a heist. Who would've thought. Maybe lying to Barry hadn't been such a bad idea after all. "And don't ice anyone!"

Len walked down the stairs, feeling oddly elated. The usual excitement before pulling a job, even if this one would be very simple. Barry's well wishes still ringing in his hears just made that feeling even better.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

They were standing on a street. Len and him.

Cops in front of them, all with their weapons pulled and aimed at them, in the middle Joe West, glaring at Barry, eyes full of reproach and disappointment.

Barry felt a shudder going through his body, turning into a vibration, every muscle tense and ready to move.

But then Len turned towards him, a smug smirk on the man's face. "You're not coming with me," Len drawled, the unfamiliar tone to the man's words sending a shiver down Barry's spine.

Without warning, he was pulled back, the scene fading into the distance. Barry caught how Len drew the cold gun, turning Joe West to ice, then aiming at the other cops while those fired back at him. Spots of red were blooming on Len's shoulders before the entire image disappeared out of Barry's sight.

The pull backwards ended with Barry's back crashing against a wall, and he gasped, falling to his knees, standing up because he had to get back there, had to help Len and Joe West and everyone else and keep people from dying—

But when Barry got to his feet, there was the speedster in the black suit, hurling a bolt of lightning at him—

"You look tired," Hartley remarked, startling Barry out of his thoughts, of remembering the dream he'd had last night, and thankfully cutting the memory off before he saw himself beaten, _again_.

Barry turned around, trying to make the smile on his face look genuine. "I haven't slept well over the last few nights," he murmured. "It's nothing."

Hartley hummed, not looking like he believed Barry's words, but thankfully letting the topic go.

Barry adjusted his slouch on the couch, stretching his back until it popped, then sank back down. He was reading through another one of Hartley's books, trying not to speed the process up too much, since he'd be quite bored once he'd read through everything. Hartley meanwhile was working at the table, something small and metallic and consisting of entirely too many parts for Barry to understand— _yet_. Hence the book.

It was early afternoon and Barry knew that it was unlikely that Len would return anytime soon. It would be at least an hour or two longer, but—

He couldn't help but worry. The plan was easy enough, but not even Len could account for every possibility, every variation. What if something went wrong? What if someone got hurt? Or _killed_? One of the cops—and god, his foster father might be among them—or worse, _Len_?

Having money to tide him and his appetite over for a week or two was all nice and good, but Barry was worried about his friend. What if something went horribly wrong, because Barry hadn't remembered something correctly, and Len would never return from this stupid, unnecessary heist, all because of Barry, because he wasn't there to _help_ —

"What's that noise?" Hartley asked, looking up from his work, eyes glancing around the room before settling on Barry.

Who flushed slightly as he looked down at his vibrating fingers, quickly curling them into fists to stop the unintended movement. "Oops, sorry."

"What was that?" Hartley asked, brows furrowed in confusion. "It sounded really odd."

Barry laughed nervously, sinking down into the couch. "I. Uhm. My fingers kind of—vibrate when I get nervous or—"

"You _vibrate_?" Hartley cut in, turning around fully on his chair, a glint to the young man's eyes that Barry wasn't sure he liked, like Hartley was amazed and enraptured and wanting to perform two dozen series of experiments to look into this all at once.

"I—yeah? Mostly by accident," Barry admitted, very adamantly trying to keep his thoughts from straying back to the morning before, when these exact vibrations had gotten him off.

"You vibrate," Hartley repeated, shaking his head in disbelief, before a sly smirk settled on his lips. "I hope you plan on sleeping with me at least once, Barry, because otherwise giving me this tidbit of information is just _cruel_."

"You _asked_ ," Barry muttered, sticking out his tongue and drawing up his shoulders. He wasn't quite sure how else to react to Hartley's very blatant—whatever it was.

Hartley snickered, hands tapping away on his knees excitedly. "Fine, not you then. Assuming that all speedsters can vibrate—maybe the Flash. All that tight red leather would make a nice addition," he joked, half teasing despite his eyes getting a dreamy expression. He nodded once, as if agreeing to that mental image. "Oh, yes."

Barry frowned at the mention of the other speedster. Why Hartley would want to sleep with someone who'd thrown him into a secret prison was just beyond him. But he did appreciate how Hartley backed off the topic of 'sex with Barry'.

He crinkled his nose, shaking his head. "If you want to sleep with a scary speedster, go ahead. I've heard there are a lot to choose from these days."

"Oh, come on, Barry," Hartley leant forward, grinning widely. "You can't tell me that you haven't used that vibrating for fun at least _once_. And I bet the Flash doesn't look too bad under that mask—"

"No thanks," Barry shook his head resolutely. He didn't even want to picture what that other speedster might look like. The one in the black suit was more than scary enough without a red-clad one backing him up in Barry's nightmares.

Hartley, however, went on unperturbed. "And if not the Flash, then someone else. _You_ don't have to look for a vibrating party after all. I'm sure Captain Cold is a huge fan, hmm?"

Now Barry could feel his face grow hot, reminded of the fantasy he'd come up with the previous morning, his mind very helpfully adding the element of himself vibrating and—no. Just, no. Bad imagination. _Bad_.

He shook his head, gestured _no_ , because Hartley's smug, lewd smirk was not helping this at all.

"Len and I are not—we don't—it's not like that, there's not—"

Oh, god, Barry couldn't even _say_ it, too caught up with all the ideas, the thought of Len and him like that, an excited shudder going down his back, while Hartley was cackling away on his chair, looking entirely too amused at Barry's brain shutting down.

"You're serious? Grumpy Cold is being all jealous and possessive about you and you're not even fucking?" Hartley got out in between snickering.

Barry just shook his head.

"Incredible," Hartley dissolved into giggles once more. "Does he _know_ that you can vibrate? I bet he'd be all over you. Sex with a human vibrator. Oh my god. That has to be fantastic."

Barry shrugged. He could admit that the vibration had felt nice on his dick, but—it also was weird. People didn't vibrate. It was freaky and odd and he couldn't control it and if Len ever found out—oh, _no_. Barry didn't even want to entertain the thought when or _how_ Len might find out about this special talent of his. Hartley's enthusiasm was a bit unexpected.

Once Hartley had calmed down a little, cheeks flushed from not breathing enough during his giggling fit, he settled a studying look at Barry, who started to squirm after a moment.

"It _is_ fantastic for your partner, right?" Hartley tried to verify, only to have Barry shrug again. "Are you currently implying that you've never _tried_?"

Barry nodded, not getting why Hartley was getting so hung up on this.

He couldn't actually be sure about what he had and hadn't done. Maybe he'd had kinky vibration sex at some point and just couldn't remember. But with his current state of amnesia, it was hard to tell. Though saying that he hadn't had a partner at any point sure seemed like a better response than 'No clue, I can only remember the past week of my life'.

"Sex with men? Sex with that incredible talent you have?" Hartley probed into the matter, now looking more curious than amused. Barry wasn't sure if that was an improvement or not.

"Neither," he answered with another shrug. Reveled a little in the disbelieving expression settling on Hartley's face.

"But sex at all"—another shake of the head, more disbelief on Hartley's face—"but a bit of feeling around"—head-shaking—"at least a _kiss_?"

"You kissed me a few days ago," Barry reminded him.

He watched Hartley's expression crumble, how a hand going up to drag through his hair, avoiding his glasses. "You're— _how_? You're in the prime of your youth, handsome, nice, you can _vibrate_ , how has no one"—Hartley trailed off, thinking for a moment, then—"are you asexual?"

Barry blinked.

Huh, interesting, he hadn't even considered that. A very short flashback of Len standing in front of him without shirt, of the previous morning, of the hot prickle in his belly every time he entertained the thought of actually having sex with Len, the _interest_ in it, had Barry shaking his head again. "Don't think so, no."

"Then we're back to my previous question. _How_?"

Barry shrugged. Should he mention his amnesia now or would it look too much like he'd been lying to Hartley all this time?

For some odd reason, Barry was pretty sure that Hartley would be upset about that. Angry. People always got angry when he lied to them for a long time about something. "It just—hasn't happened."

Hartley shook his head, as if he still couldn't quite believe it. "Incredible. But should you ever find yourself in need of someone to try out a few things with, I'm officially volunteering."

"Thanks," Barry muttered dryly. "I'll let you know."

"And that is all I ask," Hartley snickered. "But, I'm serious. Cold doesn't seem very cuddly to me. You can always come to me, even if it isn't for hot steamy super-powered sex."

"Now you just sound kind of desperate," Barry gave back with a teasing grin, trying to ignore how warm he felt inside at Hartley's offer, teasing as it may have been. He couldn't even remember _dating_ anyone in his life.

"The life of a brilliant super villain and secret scientific genius is a lonely one, Barry," Hartley muttered, mock-put out, arms crossed.

Barry snickered. Maybe Hartley with all his crabbiness wasn't exactly who he should choose for his first hugging experiments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gaze upon my first attempts at nsfw in like. Three years. I hope it wasn't too terrible to witness _(:3」∠)_
> 
> Is it obvious yet how salty I am about that damn pipeline? Because I am. I'm so glad y'all are too. This thing is gonna' be mentioned and criticized until the day I stop breathing. It's bad enough that the show never so much as spares a thought to it. Like. The enormous psychological damage. Or the fucking plotholes. Where do they sleep in those boxes? On the ground? How do they go to the toilet? Where do they brush their teeth? Doesn't Nimbus get out when they open his cell to give him food? HUH, show writers?
> 
> Hartley's going to still be around next chapter, since Barry is not done waiting yet. Originally those scenes were supposed to be in this chapter, but then it all got so long, so I decided to put them in the next. There is only so much of Hartley's flirting one chapter can take before I need to add a tag for those two. Though I have to admit, it's a lot of fun writing him with Barry.
> 
> Next chapter is also when you'll read all about Len's grand heist which is... really not all that exciting. Seriously. Don't worry. This is all the calm before the storm. If anything, you should be more worried about what happens when Len and Hartley have to be around each other again.
> 
> I'm also trying to write ahead more, since exams are going to be in about two weeks, and I wouldn't want to skip a week of uploading. (I'll probably write more instead of less, though, because I'm a terrible procrastinator.) So, I really hope we can keep going with one chapter per week.
> 
> Also, please let me tell you again how very grateful I am for each and every single comment I receive! I read every single one like. At least three times. And if I wouldn't feel so terribly awkward coming up with individual thank-yous for every single one, I would do exactly that :')


	11. Precious

At 8 pm, Hartley decided that if Len took so long, they might as well eat something while they were waiting. There were a few complaints thrown in about billing Captain Cold for the amount of food Barry put away, but at that point, Barry was worried enough to not even care. He had hardly noticed his hunger creeping up on him until he'd felt weak and dizzy and Hartley had taken pity, handing him sandwich after sandwich.

"Len said he'd be back at 7. At the _latest_ ," Barry ground out after he'd been fed.

Hartley sighed deeply, fingers pressing against his temple. "Yes. As has been pointed out by you so eloquently the previous sixteen times."

Barry huffed. He knew that he was annoying Hartley at this point, that he was repeating himself, but he couldn't help it. He was _worried_.

Something must have happened. Something had gone wrong, Len was in trouble, and Barry wasn't there to help him, didn't even know what was _going on_ —

He checked his phone, but there weren't any new messages. There couldn't be, technically, since Len didn't have his phone with him. Something about no one getting a chance to trace Barry or other contacts, should Len end up arrested.

A gallant thought, really, but right now not knowing what had happened, where Len was, having no way to contact the other man, was driving Barry crazy.

And in extension, Hartley. "Go ahead, Barry, I'm sure if you stare at it long enough, a message will come in," the snide remark came promptly.

"What if he got hurt, Hartley?" Barry asked, ignoring his friend's general annoyance. "What if there were more cops, or the Flash showed up and dragged Len off to his secret prison—"

"The pipeline?" Hartley asked, raising a brow at Barry from where he'd taken up the other end of the couch.

"You've been there, too?" Hartley was one of the 'villains' as well, an enemy of the Flash, so Barry supposed it made sense—but still he felt a pang of worry, thinking that Hartley had been locked up for who knew how long, just like Shawna.

Instead of the dread Barry had seen on Shawna's face, however, Hartley just gave him a proud grin. "I broke out of there. Twice."

Barry's eyes widened in disbelief. "Really? What—How?"

"I'm just that smart," Hartley answered, a smug grin stretching over his face.

Barry couldn't believe it. Hartley was brilliant, sure, but as far as Barry knew, no one else had made it out of the Flash's secret prison even once on their own. They had all needed Len's help to escape—or died at some point.

"Wow," he muttered, unable to hide his amazement.

Hartley was positively preening under the attention. "I know, I know. So don't worry, Barry. If you or your grumpy friend ever get locked up there, I might just be able to bust you out."

"You would?" Barry asked, something in his chest squeezing tightly. Hartley would fight the Flash, a speedster, just to save Barry—

"Only if I get the obligatory thank-you kiss afterwards," Hartley snickered, giving Barry a wink, and just like that the moment of prickling warmth in Barry's chest was over.

Barry snorted. "I'm sure Len would be delighted to kiss you," he remarked dryly, holding back a giggle at seeing Hartley's frown.

"Ha ha, Barry. Very funny."

Now Barry was snickering. But just a little. It was relaxing to banter with Hartley, instead of having to worry about Len—

Hartley groaned loudly as Barry checked his phone again. No new messages.

"You know, I could build you a set of comm units," Hartley suddenly offered. "So you don't have to fret as much the next time your man is out stealing something."

"He's not ' _my man_ '," Barry made air-quotes, just to make sure that Hartley got the message. "But, you would? Really?"

"I wouldn't offer if I couldn't do it," Hartley muttered, crossing his arms. "Yes, of course I can. Though I might have to get a few parts first."

"Do you want Len to steal those for you as well? Because then we have a problem."

"Thanks, but I have a few suppliers of my own. That microchip at Mercury Labs is just _special_ ," Hartley explained, actually looking a bit intrigued by the idea.

Barry himself certainly was more than up for the idea. "It would be really awesome if you could actually build comms for us," he proffered.

"Would that entail me finally getting that kiss? Or hot kinky vibration sex?" Hartley asked with a leer, causing Barry to snort.

"Sounding desperate again, Hart'," Barry muttered, but couldn't quite help but grin.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

It was 09:57 pm, according to Barry's phone. Which was almost three hours later than Len had said he'd come.

At this point, Hartley had likely stopped counting how often Barry had checked his phone or complained about Len being late. Or maybe he hadn't, and had just stopped counting out loud at 42.

Barry was sprawled across the couch, Hartley working at the table. A companionable silence between them except for the times Barry whined about being worried for Len.

He opened his mouth to do just that once more, only to be cut off by Hartley before he could even start.

"I _know_ that Cold is late, Barry," Hartley muttered, nerves quite frayed after Barry's countless complaints. "Don't you want to get some sleep? Perhaps he'll show up tomorrow."

"Can't," Barry murmured. "Too worried. Too many thoughts."

"I could rig up one of my old projects. Help you sleep," Hartley offered, causing Barry to turn around and look at him with a bit of interest.

Barry pursed his lips. Not having to worry about Len for the next few hours was quite a nice thought, but he wasn't sure if he could handle doing _nothing_ while Len was still gone, probably in danger. On the other hand, Barry couldn't do anything to actively help Len now.

Hartley sighed heavily. "If you go to sleep now and let me have some peace and quiet, I'll help you look for him tomorrow. Deal?"

Barry considered the offer for a moment. He _would_ stand a better chance at finding Len with Hartley's help. Especially if those heroes were still out there. And he was _tired_.

"Help me sleep how?" he asked after a moment, coming to the conclusion that he wouldn't be able to help Len right now, anyway.

Hartley got up, rustled around in a drawer before pulling out a metallic plate, holding it up for Barry to see. "I made this some time ago, thought it might come in handy one day. It's designed to reduce the activity of the sympathetic nervous system and help with muscle relaxation via sound."

"Which means it's a glorified bedtime soundtrack," Barry quipped.

"It increases the release of GABA, I'd like to see you engineer a sound wave causing that without a background in biochemistry," Hartley muttered, giving him a glare, then went on. "Anyway, I never got it to work on the kind of scale I wanted it to—for fights, heists, and the like—but it should do for you."

"You sure? I'm kind of a special case," Barry reminded him, but Hartley nodded decisively.

"As long as it gets you to stop checking your phone every few seconds, I'm willing to try almost anything at this point."

Barry chuckled sheepishly, leaning against the back of the couch. "Yeah, I know, sorry. I'm just—worried. Len should've been back three hours ago—"

" _I know_ , Barry. Believe me, I know," Hartley groaned. "Just lie down while I mount this to my glove. _Please_."

Barry snickered, but stopped himself from teasing Hartley any more than he had. After all it was a rather kind offer from Hartley to help him relax. To not have to worry about Len as much. Barry swore to god, if Len didn't shown up until morning, he'd go out and comb all of Central City for the man at super speed—with Hartley's help.

He just hoped that Len was alright.

He stretched out on the couch, not finding the piece of furniture particularly comfortable, but he could understand that Hartley didn't want to share the quite narrow bed. At least not just for cuddling, if Hartley was actually serious about all those insinuations.

It didn't take long for Hartley to finish tinkering with one of the gloves and then throw a blanket at Barry, and Barry settled in more comfortably, eyeing Hartley's glove with a bit of suspicion. It was quite obvious that Hartley had designed the gloves as weapons. The thought of having one used on him now made Barry's stomach churn.

"Just close your eyes and relax. This only _helps_ with falling asleep, it won't work if you're too wired up," Hartley instructed, leaning against the back of the couch and directing his left hand wearing the glove at Barry's head.

Barry grumbled, since he was _trying already_. He didn't particularly enjoy being worried sick. But he did as told, stretching out under the blanket.

Hartley's glove gave out a whirring noise, before a soft sound started up, light and quiet and its pitch fluctuating slightly. Barry couldn't decide if it sounded more like a harp or a bell, because it was neither, really. Probably closest to a rip-off '1 hour of relaxing music' video on YouTube.

The corner of his mouth quirked up a little as he closed his eyes and rolled onto his side. "There's no way that this is actually going to work," he muttered, hearing Hartley 'tsk' in response.

Surprisingly, the steady sound helped Barry clear his mind. Not think so much about certain people who should have come back at certain times and then didn't. And before Barry knew it, his body was beginning to feel heavy and relaxed.

He was startled a bit when something touched him, but settled back down once he realized that it was Hartley, who was carding his fingers through the longer hair on the top of Barry's head. Which felt surprisingly nice.

Barry couldn't remember anyone doing that before, but someone likely had, at some point. Right? Maybe a parent, or sibling or friend or lover. It was nice and comforting and reassuring to know that someone was around. Close without being too intimate.

"I take it back. You're brilliant," he murmured, words slurring together a little. His answer was a quiet but definitely happy chuckle, mixing into the soft sound coming from Hartley's glove. Which really didn't seem like such a dangerous weapon anymore now.

With the gentle touch and steady noise, Barry dozed off in a matter of minutes, staying fast asleep even as Hartley moved away and took off the glove.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

For the record, Len wanted it noted that the heist went perfectly fine.

He'd memorized the route the jewelry transport would be taking, as well as all other streets, alleys and blockades in the vicinity. Combined with the additional information provided by Barry, it was child's play.

Listening in on the police communication, Len heard when the transport began at 5:42 pm. Two minutes later than planned, but Len's plan didn't rely on the police being punctual.

Fourteen minutes later, he saw the two cars driving past the alley where he'd parked, and he started following them, looking just like any other biker with the helmet he was wearing. He slowly closed in on the two cars, overtaking the rear one and then slowing down once he was in front of it, ignoring the honking that earned him.

Being just in front of one of the largest intersection in the city, it only took a moment for another driver to get in lane behind the anterior car that was transporting the jewelry. Which was all Len needed, really.

With the civilian car between them, the two cars of the police got separated at the next light, the rear one having to wait while Len went after the other. They had turned right, and according to police protocol—according to Barry—this was not a reason for anyone to worry or call in an alarm, since it tended to happen every once in a while.

But the first car should wait to let the rear one catch up, which was just what happened. The car slowed down, coming to a halt at the side of the road. Len braked sharply, stopping next to it. A natural reaction by anyone driving past, since the door of a stopping car might open at any moment without notice.

Len saw the suitcase that should contain the jewelry set lying on the backseat. Just as Barry had said it would.

He only had a few seconds before the policemen inside the car would notice that something was up, of course, but that was more than enough. After all it didn't take any longer than that to open the rear door, grab the case, then take off at full speed.

One car was still at the red light, didn't even know what had just happened, and the other couldn't follow with the door still open. By the time they did follow, Len was already around the corner, out of sight.

So, really, his plan played out smoothly and the heist went perfectly fine.

There would have been no problem at all if it wasn't for those damn annoying heroes. Who apparently weren't busy enough just flying over the city and looking for the Flash, but had to go after random thieves when they happened to fly by.

Which was how, after shaking off the police before the chase even began, Len ended up being followed by Firestorm.

It didn't take long to become apparent why Barry had had so much trouble outrunning the flying heroes—for one thing, the guy was _flying_ and thus not bound to the same earthly limitations as Len. For another, it was quite obvious that someone was giving him instructions on which route to take to box Len in somewhere.

Since Len had memorized the streets, building sites and everything else close by, he managed to shake the guy off by cutting a few close corners and then waiting in an alley that was so narrow it barely deserved the name. More of a gap between buildings than anything else. The point was, from above it shouldn't be visible that it was an alley at all, and it also shouldn't show up on maps.

Just as Len had hoped, Firestorm didn't spot him and flew past. Many times.

Many, _many_ times.

Obviously looking for him, but Len was not about to let himself get caught.

So he waited it out, staying where he was for almost an hour, catching occasional glimpses of Firestorm, the police and one time the Atom. Only when he was sure that the hero had finally given up, Len took off again, this time driving like any law-abiding citizen would.

He made it exactly five blocks before he spotted Firestorm again. Still far away, but coming closer. Another alley way, another thirty minutes, the same game again.

And so it went on. It took over two hours more for Len to make it back to his safe house, and by the end of it, Len was considering handing Barry back over to his friends just to put an end to the constant air surveillance. How come the public hadn't staged protests against this yet?

He changed his jacket, helmet and bike at a nearby safe house, looking through the jewelry for any hidden trackers before stuffing it into a different bag. From there he went on to another safe house, leaving the jewelry there just in case he'd missed any hidden traps, and changed bikes again. Just to be sure.

He could fight off any potential followers, of course, but he didn't want to risk leading them to Barry. He didn't want Barry to get in—

Well, he didn't want to lose the speedster's support, seeing as Barry would make a great asset for any future heists. That would just be careless.

And Barry's information, though not much, had checked out perfectly. If Barry got a handle on his speed as well, Len would be able to steal pretty much _anything_. A tempting thought.

Len took several detours on the way to Rathaway's apartment, even though the drive took longer that way. He arrived well past 11 pm, rapping his fingers against the door of the apartment impatiently. Now he only had to hope that Rathaway hadn't blabbed about anything Flash-related, and that Barry was fine.

After a few long moments, the door opened, revealing Piper who was glaring at him angrily.

Len's brows rose in a silent question.

"Oh, look who decided to show up. And only a _little_ late," Piper hissed, voice quiet but accusing, finally stepping back and letting Len come inside. "Do you know how worried Barry was? Do you have any idea how he chewed my ear off when you didn't show up when you said you would? For god's sake, Snart, I thought your plans were _good_ —"

Len only listened with half an ear to Piper's yapping, once he'd spotted Barry on the couch. Curled up under a blanket, one arm and leg hanging off the side, but fast asleep and looking... not so peaceful. Haunted was more like it. Fingers clutching the back of the couch, forehead furrowed with worry and fear of something only Barry could see.

It made Len's stomach clench uncomfortably. The expression seemed so wrong on Barry's usually happy face...

Piper finally shut up when he noticed that Len wasn't listening anymore, going over to the couch and carding his fingers through Barry's hair. Moments later, Barry's expression relaxed, the tension slowly easing out of his face and body.

Even if Len had wanted to, he wouldn't have been able to stop himself from glaring at Piper. Said bastard was currently giving him a smug grin, still petting Barry's head.

"Don't know if you've noticed, but he doesn't sleep well," Piper drawled, leaning against the couch.

Len's lips pressed together in a tight line. "So you decided to paw him until he stopped?" he asked, voice gaining an icy, mocking tone.

"Actually, we figured that part out while he was still awake," Piper gave back, looking entirely too self-satisfied with the way he was still stroking Barry's hair.

Clenching his teeth, Len let out a slow, controlled breath. This was not a reason to show anger, he reminded himself. The only thing wrong with this situation was that—

If Barry got too attached to Piper, his loyalty to Len might waver. And Len wanted a speedster loyal only to _him_.

Which was a perfectly good reason why Barry was never staying with Piper ever again. Definitely not.

"Barry, wake up, we're leaving," Len ground out, perhaps a bit louder then strictly necessary.

His answer was an unhappy noise and Barry wriggling around on the couch, turning onto his side so he was facing the backrest. "Jus' five more min't's," he grumbled sleepily.

If it wasn't for Piper still pawing at Barry, Len might have almost called the reaction 'cute'.

"Wake up, Barry. Your husband has returned from the war," Hartley hummed, gently patting Barry's head.

And that got a reaction. A yawn and some more wriggling and Barry blinking his eyes open, giving Hartley a puzzled look. "What."

"Cold. Over there." Hartley pointed over to where Len was standing, decidedly not crossing his arms or grinding his teeth or hoping for Piper to drop dead.

Barry's gaze followed Hartley's hand, eyes going wide as he spotted him.

"Len!" With a wide grin, Barry jumped up, but was still so tangled up in the blanket that he fell right off the couch. Lightning crackled at Barry's sides, and suddenly he was standing in front of Len, eyes shining with happiness and relief. "You're back!"

The next moment, Barry's expression went sour, brows drawn together as he angrily poked Len's shoulder. "Do you have any idea how worried I was? You didn't even _text_ me."

"I can take care of myself, Barry," Len reminded him, voice calm but inching towards icy. He did _not_ need to have this conversation in front of Pied Piper.

Barry frowned at him, but thankfully let it go for the time being. The next moment, his eyes got droopy and he yawned. "Fine. But we're gonna' talk about this when I'm not so tired anymore."

Len nodded. He felt oddly tense as he watched Barry bidding goodbye to Hartley—another hug that went on for far longer than it should, Hartley's hands way too low on Barry's back, Len's jaw clenched tightly. He only started to relax when they were finally out of that damn apartment, Barry shuffling behind him at a slow pace, looking sleepy and tired and jittering with energy all at once.

"Hartley's building comms," Barry said on their way down the stairs, causing Len's head to whip around to him.

"For _who_?"

Barry looked at him as if it was a silly question. It was _not_.

"For us, of course. So next time you steal something, we can stay in contact. Pretty brilliant, right?" Barry was giving him wide, innocent puppy eyes. Which was the only reason Len didn't shoot the idea down right this instant. "I mean, you wanted to get that microchip for him in a few days. And there are going to be other heists as well. I just. I'd feel so much better if I could stay in contact with you while you're out stealing things or whatever."

Len pressed his lips together, fingers fiddling inside his pockets. "I suppose it could be—useful."

To be able to call on Barry, without the younger man actually being there. An instant way out, in case anything went wrong. But it also held so many risks...

"I'll think about it," Len muttered after a moment of thought, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You and I should get some sleep first."

Smiling widely, Barry gave him a nod. On the drive back to the safe house, he was leaning against Len's back so heavily that Len wondered if Barry had already fallen asleep. Not that he'd mind, but it would be pretty unfortunate to lose his speedster because Barry fell asleep and consequently also off a driving bike.

Fortunately, Barry didn't fall off and they both arrived at the safe house without any trouble. On the way up the stairs, Barry was staggering slightly, eyes more closed than open.

"'Night, Len," was murmured, quietly, as Barry leaned against his door.

"Get some sleep," Len gave back, watching as Barry smiled dopily and then disappeared into his room.

Len went to bed as well, but sleep didn't come to him quite as easily.

He didn't like it, but it irked him how relaxed and comfortable Barry was around Rathaway. And Len couldn't deny that the Piper kid was handsome, closer to Barry's age. And flirting. _A lot_.

And Barry obviously considered Rathaway his friend. Liked him enough to cuddle—or be petted or whatever the hell else had been going on before Len had come by—and hug him and fall asleep around him. And to be comforted by Rathaway's _touch_ when he had nightmares. Ones he wouldn't even mention to Len since the disaster with the cold gun that had led to Barry running off.

Len wasn't against Barry having friends, of course. Barry needed contact with others, people other than Len. And Len liked Baez just fine, it was just that Rathaway, with his constant touching and flirting and insinuating—

He prided himself on being a logical man, so he supposed denying it made little sense. Rathaway being all that close to Barry was making Len feel jealous.

After all, he hadn't gone through all the trouble to get the speedster onto his side, just to lose him now to Pied Piper. And besides that, Barry was... perhaps growing on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Barry and Hartley is definitely way too much fun, and if this keeps up, Len will really have to worry ;) I'm not actually sure yet how close Barry and Hartley are going to get, but the majority of you seems to not be too opposed to the idea?
> 
> Unfortunately, I'm apparently not cut out to be a criminal mastermind. I apologize. Have some jealous Len instead. Although now I kind of feel bad for him because the newest LoT episode completely shattered my heart.
> 
> And a huge thank you to university for teaching me how to research whether or not there is scientific proof backing up Hartley's sleepy-device. There is. Great job, science.
> 
> This chapter was on the calmer side of things, I know, but worry not! Next week Barry is going to meet someone new and recover some memories. It'll be fun :3


	12. Family

Barry was _bored_.

Len had gone out to buy groceries and possibly bring the stolen jewelry. Which was something that Barry felt kind of uncomfortable with, but he also wanted to see it. He hadn't been the one to steal it, so technically there was nothing wrong with wanting to look at it now—right?

But Len was taking his time, had been gone for hours now, and there were only so many things a lone, bored speedster could do on his own. Shawna had stopped answering his texts half an hour ago, since she apparently needed to work, and Hartley hadn't answered at all so far. Lucky him, he could look forward to 37 new messages from Barry now.

Barry whipped around as he heard the front door open, a smile already on his face. "Hey, L—"

That wasn't Len.

Barry could only analyze so much in the split second he needed to duck down behind the backrest, but that _definitely_ wasn't Len.

A stranger. A man, bald, taller than Len, wide shoulders, looked like he could definitely beat Barry in a fight if not for the super speed.

Barry didn't think it would be smart to let that stranger find out about his super speed.

"Snart?" Barry heard the stranger call out, the man's voice deep and rough and not sounding as friendly as Barry would have liked.

Was that man a friend of Len's? An acquaintance? An enemy? How had he found this place?

Barry zipped over to the side of the living room, the part that wouldn't be visible from the front door, narrowly avoiding his crash into the wall.

Okay. This was—could be, might be, hopefully was not—bad. Barry needed to do something. _Fast_.

He looked around the room, eyes settling on the potted plant in the corner, a small palm—

"You here? Snart!" the man called, steps coming closer to the living room.

Barry noticed his fingers blurring and hurriedly wrapped them around the thin stem, his other hand pulling up the pot to lift the plant—and damn, it was way heavier than it looked. He zipped through the room, stopping right next to the corner of the hallway, so the man hopefully wouldn't notice him immediately—

The stranger stepped into the room, and the first fucking thing he did was look around, gaze instantly snapping to Barry. Who was doing his best to hold up the plant, swinging it like a sword—just slower, since it was heavy—and stepping back.

"Stay the hell back," Barry demanded, glaring at the man and doing his best to look menacing. Maybe he was lucky and the stranger was allergic.

"The fuck, kid." The man muttered, unfortunately not looking very intimidated. More bewildered and very confused.

"I'm warning you," Barry tried again, raising the plant higher. He had no reason to be worried, he reminded himself. If he used his speed, that guy didn't stand a chance. "I don't know what you're doing here, but if you're here to cause trouble, you should know that I—"

"I'm looking for Len. You seen him?" the man asked, eyeing the plant that was starting to slip in Barry's hands. "You should put that down before you hurt yourself."

Barry bristled at that, swinging the palm again and squaring his shoulders. "Why are you looking for him? Who are you?"

The man grumbled something under his breath, taking a step forward. Barry took one back, lifting the palm up higher. If he sped up enough, he might be able to knock the stranger out with a hit to the head before the man could realize that he had super speed.

"Don't come any closer! I know how to defend myself!" Barry warned again, grateful that his voice wasn't wavering.

Something in the man's expression twitched, and Barry tensed up, readying himself for the attack—

What he was not expecting was that the man would guffaw loudly.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

When Len came back, he was carrying way too many bags for one person. It wasn't easy to balance everything at once, and maybe getting Barry to flash everything in from the car would have been smarter.

He opened the door, surprised when he heard voices coming from the living room.

 _Voices_ , as in, more than one.

More than just Barry's.

He was half-ready to drop everything and sprint up to his bed room where he'd left the cold gun, when he saw Barry's smiling face looking at him from over the backrest of the couch. And next to him—

"Snart, tell me you're keeping this one," Mick demanded with a wave towards Barry, grinning proudly. "Don't care how good he is in bed, he's got _guts_."

"He's only saying that because I threatened to knock him out with the plant," Barry added, not even blushing at the suggestion that he was only here because they were fucking.

Priceless jewelry fell to the ground with a heavy 'thunk'.

Had Len gotten hit over the head while buying groceries?

"Mick. What are you doing here?" he asked after taking a moment to collect his thoughts. He set everything he'd brought in down on the floor, resisting the rather appealing thought of leaning against the wall.

Mick and Barry, together, in the same room, without supervision. Why did that thought fill him with dread?

"Came t' ask if you wanted to go get a drink, see in the new year. Didn't know you already had someone to _celebrate_ with," Mick drawled the words, wiggling his brows and making it more than obvious what he was alluding to. Barry finally flushed at the implication of it—at least something was normal.

Now Len only had to diffuse this very weird situation.

He dragged a hand over his head, letting out a breath. "Yes. As you can see, I can't join you tonight. Some other time then."

Mick laughed, getting up from the couch and coming over. "I'll hold you to it. 'Least now I finally know why I haven't heard from you the past few days." He gestured over to Barry who was watching them curiously. Going on as if Barry couldn't hear every word he said. "Can't blame you. Kid's cute. Has spunk. 'n you have to like him, brought him to one of your nice places."

"That's not quite how things are." Not that Len could mention that the 'cute kid' was actually the Flash. With amnesia.

"Sure. That's why he was blushing crimson when I asked him 'bout you two," Mick rumbled sarcastically, then shook his head. "But I know when I'm not wanted. I'll leave you and your boy to it."

"I-I'm not—" Barry sputtered from the couch, but was entirely ignored.

"Have fun, Mick." Len waved after the other man with an exasperated, slightly fond smile.

"And call! Your sister's been chewing my ear of 'coz you don't talk to her," Mick called.

Len gave an affirmative, then closed the door before anything else could be said. When he turned around, Barry was already standing right there, looking like he was dying to say something.

Len sighed internally. He just hoped that Mick hadn't blabbed about anything Flash-related.

"You okay?" he asked, relaxing slightly when he saw Barry nod. He set to picking up the groceries and bringing them to the kitchen.

Barry was right behind him, carrying a few bags of his own. "So, today's the last day of the year...?" The question came, hesitant.

Len nodded, gaze fixed on their food as he put it away. "Mh-hm."

"So you and I—this amnesia thing—it's the holidays?" Barry went on, voice growing firmer.

"If I'd known you'd lose your memory and stay with me, I would've gotten you a present," Len teased with a wry grin. There was a frown on Barry's face, and that couldn't possibly mean anything good.

"But that means— _Christmas_ , Len. And now New Year's! I thought it was some—somewhen else, I don't know, earlier or later in the year. Over the holidays, my family—foster family, whatever— _must_ have tried to contact me, right? They must have noticed I'm gone by now—"

Barry's voice trailed off, and Len dared to look over at the younger man, taking in Barry's worried expression.

"They must have noticed. They have to be so worried right now..."

"Don't know, kid," Len muttered, voice gruff. "No idea how close you and your folks were. Do you want to—visit them?"

Len's stomach sank as he spoke the question, hoping that Barry wouldn't want to go. If Barry did want to see his family, Len would either have to stop him or accept that Barry found out the truth. Neither option would have pleasant consequences for him.

"I... I should, right?" Barry's voice came out quiet, small. So unlike himself. Len looked over and saw that Barry was curled in on himself, arms coming up to wrap around his middle. "I should..."

*

Only... he didn't want to.

Not really.

They were his family—foster family—, Joe and Iris West, but there was also his actual—biological—father. Apparently innocent of killing his mother. But they were still Barry's family, and he surely had friends as well, he just—

He should want to see them.

Get to know them again.

But if he was honest—he didn't.

Barry took in a shuddering breath, rubbing his hands over his lower arms. He hoped that Len wasn't looking at him. He had to look pitiful.

"You don't sound too eager, Barry," Len cut into his thoughts, startling Barry slightly.

He bit down on his lower lip, trying to calm himself, gather some courage.

"I'm afraid," he murmured after a long moment, glancing at Len for a second before looking down at his feet, wrapping his arms more tightly around himself. He tried to laugh, voice cracking pitifully. "I _should_ want to see them, right? They're my family. They have to be worried about me, and they could help me, so much, I'm sure, but—"

He broke off again, gaze flickering to Len once more. Len who was now looking back at him, brows drawn together in a worried little frown.

"I don't—I don't _know_ them, Len," Barry finally got out, feeling upset, utterly out of place, out of control. "I know you, and Shawna and Hartley, and now Mick. But I don't know _them_. What if I end up not liking them? What if—the Wests aren't even my biological family. All that's between us were shared experiences. And I—I don't have those memories anymore. I'm just a stranger now, with Barry Allen's face."

There was a drawn out silence between them, before Barry heard Len shuffle, taking a step closer. Barry tensed.

He could feel tears burning in his eyes, unshed, and this was already embarrassing and pitiful enough without crying—

"You're still you, Barry," Len said, voice calm and low.

Barry looked at him, unsure. "I'm different. I don't even remember who I was. I don't remember _them_. If I hadn't looked at pictures, I could pass them on the street and wouldn't even know I spent years of my life growing up with them! I can't—I've put it off, meeting them. I don't know how to handle it. What to do. How to act. How to be—their Barry Allen."

He jumped a little when he felt Len's hand on his shoulder, but then forced himself to relax. Hesitated for a moment before looking up into Len's fixating gaze that was directed at him with so much concern and seriousness.

"You're the same, Barry," Len began. "The same person. Losing your memories doesn't change who you are inside. Just took away all the baggage you've been carrying around."

"So I _am_ different," Barry muttered, a stubborn set to his jaw, and Len's lips twitched into a smile. More of a smirk, actually.

"Maybe. But does it matter? You're doing just fine as _my_ Barry Allen."

Barry let out a choked-off noise, something between a bitter laugh and a huff, shaking his head. "I—thanks for your help, really but—that can't be all I am. I just—I just need to go and find out the rest. I would, if I wasn't such a coward. I could've gone and met my family every day, and instead I don't even want to think about it. Just because it's the easier thing to do."

"You're going through a lot right now, Barry. You don't have to push yourself to meet your family right this instant," Len murmured, and Barry relaxed, slumping forward a little.

"I will. Talk to them. I'll do it, just—not now. Not yet," he resolved, quietly, looking up at Len as if waiting for approval.

"Take all the time you need, Barry," Len encouraged him, a smile on his face—though for some odd reason, it kind of reminded Barry more of a smug grin.

He was probably a bit too out of it with all his worries.

Things would be so much easier if he had anything from before to rely on, but all the friends he had now were people he hadn't known before. Except for Len.

The man and woman from his dream came to mind, and he wondered if he'd known those people before. Were they—Had they been his friends? Would he be able to get to know them, again?

But every time he tried to think of something, remember _anything_ from before, he felt as if he was running against a wall in his brain. As if everything was there, still stored away, but he just couldn't reach it. Nothing came through except for the dreadful image of the speedster in the black suit.

Nothing but that bone-deep terror, that fear, knowing that something terrible was happening—

He couldn't remember anything but that—fear—

Len's kitchen flickered as a searing pain spiked up in Barry's brain.

The kitchen was blurring, tilting, slipping out of reach—

And suddenly, Barry was standing in the doorway, in his house, feeling young and small and _scared_ —

There was a woman on the floor, in the middle of the room, her long red hair fluttering, as red and yellow lightning was chasing around her.

With sudden clarity, Barry knew that this was Nora Allen.

This was his _Mom_ —and this was when she died.

He called for her, too scared, too small to do anything to help, feeling helpless and terrified. And then his Dad grabbed him, pulled him back, told him to _run_ —

Barry was ripped away.

Found himself looking into the room from a different angle, even though he was sure that wasn't where he had been taken, that night.

He saw two men, two _speedsters_ running around his mother. One of them in a yellow suit, angry red lightning in his wake, and the other one—

The _Flash_?

Barry took a step forward—this was his Mom, this was when she died, and he was here to stop that, to _save_ her—but he stopped when the Flash looked at him.

The Flash held up his hand, shook his head, and Barry didn't know _why_ , but he stepped back—

Heard his Dad tell him to _run_ , a second time, even though it had only happened once.

And Barry stayed where he was. He could hear his Mom's frightened screams, saw the man in yellow grab a knife—

He turned away, couldn't bear to watch it—

Watch how the man in yellow stabbed the knife into his Mom's chest.

Barry closed his eyes, trembling, shaking, torn. Heard the sickening squelching noise as it happened, as his Mom's chest was pierced. He stood and waited, until he heard the other speedster run off.

Only then did he enter the room. He caught sight of his Dad, knocked out on the floor—sentenced to life in prison for murdering his wife, but _alive_ —

He felt as if he was moving through water as he turned. Knelt down to be with her, hold her in her last moments, hold his Mom as she _died_ —

Things were blurry, he knew that he was crying, she was crying. He told her that his Dad and he were okay. That he loved her.

"Goodbye, Barry," were her last words, weak, quiet, voice shaking. Then her head rolled away, eyes empty.

Barry knew that he was crying, leaning over her—

He hadn't been able to save her, she was _dead_ , his Mom was dead and his Dad would go to prison for her murder—

The world blurred again, and suddenly he was standing, cheeks dry but still trembling, Len right in front of him, hands on Barry's shoulders.

A heavy sob broke free of Barry's chest, tears following right behind, just like there had been, moments before as he'd watched his mother die.

Breathing felt so difficult as he cried, feeling himself crumble, trying to force the emotions down and yet completely overwhelmed.

It must have been years since it happened, since his Mom died, but it felt as if it had happened just moments ago.

"Barry?" Len's voice was laced with concern, worry, confusion.

It had to be pretty weird when the guy one was having a conversation with suddenly broke down crying, Barry thought self-depreciatingly.

Barry couldn't work up an answer, he needed a moment, _just a moment_ to deal with this, to think around the image of his Mom sinking to the floor, lifeless, burnt into his memory.

He stepped forward, stumbling more than walking, arms wrapping around Len and clinging tightly to the other man. Len wasn't someone who enjoyed physical contact much, Barry knew that, but he _needed_ it right now, just a moment to come back to himself, feeling Len's warmth, the faint beating of the other man's heart.

After a long moment, Len's arms wrapped around him in return, slow and hesitant, awkward and searching, as if Len didn't know how to hug someone Barry's size.

It might have been minutes or might have been hours when Barry's sobs finally died down, when he could breathe more freely again and make himself let go of Len. He pulled back, hands rubbing over his cheeks to wipe the tears away. He needed to wipe his nose. He felt like such a mess. Still teetering on the edge of breaking down again, cold and floating without Len's touch.

"What happened?" Len asked, voice low, frowning at Barry in concern.

"My... My Mom. I don't know why, I remembered—" Barry broke off, wiping furiously at his cheeks as new tears welled up. He couldn't bring himself to say it.

That he had let her die, even though he'd been there.

Len nodded, apparently gathering the rest from Barry's pitiful state. "I'm sorry, Barry."

Barry shook his head, leaning against the counter behind him as he didn't want to throw himself at Len again. "I—I couldn't do anything to save her, Len. The man in the yellow suit, he killed her, and I just—the Flash was there—"

"The _Flash_?" Len's brows shot up, suddenly looking wary. Which made sense, of course, since the Flash was Len's enemy.

"I don't know how he got there. I just—I know that I was there to save her, but _he_ didn't want me to. And I listened."

Why on earth had he listened to the Flash? Why hadn't he saved his Mom? Why did the Flash want his Mom to be dead?

Len reached out, fingers brushing against Barry's shoulders before pulling back. "That sounds—strange. But I'm sure you had your reasons. It'll come to you."

Barry shook, arms wrapped tightly around himself. He couldn't understand why he would listen to the Flash. How the Flash had even gotten there, to Barry's home, the night his mother was murdered.

Now his mother was dead and his dad had spent years in prison, _innocent_ , all because Barry hadn't saved her.

Because the Flash had told him not to.

Len reached out for him again, still looking worried, and Barry couldn't help but feel guilty. It had to be very uncomfortable for Len, to just see him break down all of a sudden.

He took a shuddering breath, tried to calm himself down. "I-It's—I feel like it happened just moments ago, but just—just give me a second, I'll be fine, I just need to—"

"It's fine, Barry. You don't have to get over your childhood trauma right this instant." Len's tone was still soft, but with a teasing lilt to it, and when Barry looked up he saw a hint of a grin on Len's lips. Trying to cheer him up.

Barry felt something warm bubble up in his chest. A nice, comforting feeling.

Len looked at him for a moment, silent and contemplating. "Do you remember Star Wars?" he asked then, much to Barry's confusion.

"Star Wars?" he repeated in disbelief. "As in, the movies? I—I know the facts, what happens. Can't think of actually seeing them at some point."

"Good. We're having a marathon."

"We— _What_?" Barry wasn't sure if he'd heard that correctly. Had Len just switched topics from his murdered mother to Star Wars?

But Len nodded, looking completely serious. "A marathon. You get to see the films for the first time, a second time. Or just first time, if you haven't seen them before. Doesn't matter."

"Len, I'm—really not feeling like watching a movie right now—"

Len shook his head. "Not right now. You need some time to cool down, obviously. But maybe tonight. Get you to cheer up a little. We can have pizza."

"You—" Barry was actually speechless.

It was obvious that Len was doing this to help him feel better, and the warm, bubbly feeling in Barry's chest made a reappearance.

Absently, Barry thought that he was quite lucky to have been with Len when this amnesia had started. Len who was making such an effort to help him. He could have ended up somewhere so much worse.

After a short moment of thinking things over, he nodded, a faint smile sneaking onto his face despite the fear and sadness still clinging to him. "Tonight sounds good. With pizza."

Len's lips stretched into his typical smirk. "Good. There's also pretty jewelry if you want to take a look."

Barry's eyes went wide, excitement sparking in his stomach. "The stuff you stole yesterday?"

Len nodded. "You helped me steal it. Least I can do is let you take a look. Don't want you to lose your interest in being a criminal, after all."

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

That evening, Barry felt drained, but better. Still not perfect, a whirlwind of emotions simmering right under his skin, ready to break down over him if anything should happen to upset him, but—

Nothing bad happened.

He'd looked at the jewelry, which was admittedly very pretty, while listening to Len's story of stealing it without anyone getting hurt in the process. And then a bunch of other stories, which were all very entertaining once he got Len talking. If Barry wasn't mistaken, Len had edited out some details, though.

Later in the evening, Len ordered pizza for them. A lot of it, since Barry's metabolism was demanding as ever, and Barry was bouncing with excitement by the time it arrived. His favorite kind, olives and jalapeños and pepperoni, except for the one that Len kept to himself. Apparently he didn't love olives as much as Barry did.

And despite feeling very tired, Barry learnt that he loved Star Wars. The movie was old, sure, and some of the special effects and costumes made him cringe—the fights were so _slow_ —but that hardly mattered in the face of everything else. He also found himself humming along to pretty much every song without having to think about it, delighted that he'd uncovered some memories that weren't other speedsters ruining his life. Catching sight of Len's content smirk, expression relaxed, was just icing on the cake.

All in all, it was—nice. Domestic, almost.

They missed the beginning of the new year, too caught up in the final scenes of _A New Hope_. The noise of countless fireworks outside was what alerted them to the mishap a minute later. A bit belated, Len paused the movie—just before Luke was about to try to destroy the Death Star, and Barry had half a mind to tell him to let the new year wait for a few minutes more.

"Happy New Year, Barry," Len muttered after a pregnant pause, looking oddly unsure of himself.

Barry smiled back, daring to shuffle a little closer to the other man on the couch they were sharing, only a few inches left between them. "Happy New Year, Len."

"Do you—" Len started, breaking off, then trying again. "D'you want to go outside? Watch the fireworks?"

"I want to see the Death Star explode when Luke finally shoots the damn thing. _Priorities_ , Len," Barry replied, earning himself a chuckle.

After the Death Star was destroyed, they went outside to catch the fireworks of a few stragglers, standing out against the dark sky and reflecting off the smoking trails of earlier ones. Barry was full-on shivering by the time they went back inside to continue the marathon, and apparently looked cold enough that Len went to get him a blanket.

It had been a great evening, Barry thought to himself as he woke up the next morning, curled up on the couch and with a stiff neck that got better within a few minutes of being awake. He could hear Len rustling around in the kitchen, hopefully making breakfast, and that was enough to chase away the lingering images of black and yellow and red shadows chasing after him in his dreams.

"You could've woken me up. Your couch is not _that_ comfortable," he grumbled indignantly, loud enough that Len would hear him in the kitchen.

"That's what you get for falling asleep during the second movie. You know there are five more after that, right?" Len called from the kitchen, and Barry grumbled something under his breath.

He'd been tired, that was no reason to let him spend the night on the couch. Besides, watching Luke stomping through a swamp hadn't been all that exciting. Technically, he knew that more interesting things happened later on, like—

"Did I sleep through the _"I am your father"_ scene?" He squawked, siting up abruptly. Len's sudden chuckling from the kitchen was all the answer he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative Chapter Title: How Barry ends up befriending yet another one of his enemies
> 
> I think we can all agree that losing his mom has to be one of Barry's worst memories. And since it just so happens that that is also when he interacts with a Flash, who is technically not himself, this was just perfect. It's like the series wants me to write this story. Now poor Barry only knows that he can't be the Flash, since he interacted with the guy.
> 
> I know this is a day later than promised, though right now I should technically be learning for my test tomorrow. Lucky for you, I'm a master procrastinator and working on fanfiction instead. Besides, all those meds are starting to look like keyboard smashes. And why are there so _many_ , gdi. (Additional advice: The side effects of pretty much everything include death. So don't overdo it with those Aspirin.)  
> I wasn't sure whether to put the Star Wars evening into this chapter or the next, but then decided it would make a nice ending for the chapter, especially since I don't know when I'll be able to upload the next one. There's still so much learning to do. But I'm still holding out hope that the next chapter won't take more than a week.


	13. Connection

Barry remembered seeing the Flash.

Barry remembered _interacting_ with the Flash, who was not himself, and thus Barry was now even more convinced that he couldn't possibly be the Flash himself.

That was good.

Barry remembering the night his mother died and seeing the Flash there and now being even warier of this _other_ speedster was a _good thing_.

Len hated it.

He'd known that the kid hadn't had an easy life. Couldn't've, not with the mother murdered, the father locked up in Iron Heights for doing it. Before Len had heard the kid talk, he hadn't doubted that the father had actually _done_ it. It was none of his business, though, hadn't ever played a role in his interactions with the Flash. Then Barry had forgotten, and it was even less important.

Now it was back, Barry disliked the Flash even more, and much to his chagrin, Len couldn't feel gleeful about it.

It'd been daunting, watching Barry talk one moment, and then see his expression fall the next. Eyes wide and empty, staring into nothing, skin growing pale as a look of complete terror and grief took over, and yet Barry had refused to react to anything Len had said or done.

Len was not keen on a repeat of that.

Barry remembering, Barry going through that again, it helped to solidify Len's lies, helped in his schemes, but—

It hadn't been necessary. It didn't have to happen.

Watching Barry, unresponsive and terrified and losing his mother again hadn't been necessary.

So, no, Len couldn't bring himself to feel gleeful, despite how useful this was.

At least Barry had cheered up over pizza and Star Wars. Relaxed enough that that haunted expression had left his eyes, and he'd fallen asleep, head dropping onto Len's shoulder. Len had taken that as his cue to finally move away, get some distance between them, like he hadn't been able to make himself do before.

Today Barry seemed more relaxed, more grounded, as he was lying on the couch and using Len's Netflix account.

Len couldn't help but wonder what Barry would remember next. If it would make Barry freeze up again, cause him to panic or dissociate.

If—or when—Barry would remember that Captain Cold was not his friend.

He shook his head, looking back down to the ground plans laid out in front of him. He should be focusing on the next heist. Piper was being an annoying pest, but more useful on their side and able to do a lot of damage should he actually decide to blab to someone about Barry. At this point, Len wasn't sure if Piper would. Barry seemed to actually be friends with the guy. And Shawna. And Mick.

If Len didn't rein this in, soon he'd be unable to fight the Flash because the guy had _befriended_ all of Len's criminal back-up. That wouldn't do.

If Len had a special kind of distaste for how close Barry was with Hartley—so what. He'd just get the annoying prick that microchip and then be done with it.

The plan was to steal said microchip from Mercury Labs three days from now. That made the break between heists a lot—a _lot_ —shorter than Len usually liked, but it would have to do. Neither the jewelry heist nor this were particularly big jobs, and the faster he could work out how much of an asset Barry was to his heists, the faster Len could get started on an actual job for them.

A huge one, worthy of involving Captain Cold, the Rogues, and a Flash turned criminal. And the sooner the better—preferably before Barry remembered that they were enemies or that he wasn't actually Len's friend. And before the Flash's team found them.

But all of that would only happen if Len could stop overthinking things and actually focus on the next job. He glanced over the plans of Mercury Labs, only to be distracted a second later when his phone flashed with a new message.

Seemed like he just wasn't _supposed_ to get any planning done today.

Len sighed quietly, glanced over at Barry who was still occupied with Netflix, then checked his phone.

Len sighed internally. Lisa meeting Barry was another thing he didn't want to happen. Barry might have held his own against Mick, but his baby sister was another caliber.

And in addition to that, Lisa had once mentioned 'Cisco's cute brunet friend' who had been with the young scientist the night Lisa had stolen him away to build their guns. Len didn't know how many 'cute brunet friends' Cisco had, but he definitely didn't need Lisa to recognize Barry as said friend. From her mentioning Barry staying with Len to Cisco, to her putting two and two together and realizing that Barry was the Flash, there was an endless string of bad things to come out of that meeting.

Because of that, preventing Lisa from meeting or even seeing Barry was priority number one.

He typed out the reply, hoping that Lisa would drop the topic. What was it with people assuming that he and Barry were fucking, anyway?

Of course Lisa wouldn't just drop it. She was by far too invested in Len's romantic life. Usually that was annoying and mortifying enough, but now—things with Barry were different, and Lisa couldn't find out about that.

Finally. A different topic. And a far more interesting one at that. If only Len could finally decide on what the big score would be...

Len sighed, out loud this time. Of course Lisa wouldn't _just_ let the topic go. It had to be a ploy to talk him into something else.

Though Len had to admit, it was true. He hadn't seen Lisa in quite a while. They couldn't be around each other for too long without starting to get on each other's nerves, but—just lunch should be fine. Though he couldn't leave Barry alone for too long.

Another message came in.

He agreed. Now he just had to hope that this wouldn't backfire on him.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

After lunch had been agreed on, Lisa left him alone. Len got to concentrate on the layout of Mercury Labs for exactly seven minutes and 48 seconds before he was interrupted again.

Apparently, this heist was just not meant to happen.

"Len," Barry called out, sounding oddly upset.

Len got a strong feeling that he wouldn't like this. "What?"

Barry held up the laptop, turning it so Len could take a look at the screen. From Len's distance, he couldn't make out the details, but the title and photograph going with the online article made it quite clear what this was about. Namely, the jewelry collection that had been stolen two days ago while being transported to an auction.

Stolen by _Len_ , and now it was innocently sitting on their living room table. Len was planning on selling it in a few days, since there was hardly any need to hurry. And up until then Barry could admire the pretty sparkling diamonds, maybe discover his hidden criminal side.

"Yes, that's ours. What's the matter?" Len asked, gaze going from the screen back to Barry.

Barry gave him an unhappy frown, grinding his teeth. "It says here that some of the money taken in at the auction would have gone to charity."

Len raised an eyebrow, silently asking where the problem was, causing Barry to frown even more.

"You basically stole from _charity_ , Len. That's—so incredibly wrong, I don't even know where to start—"

"Barry," Len cut him off, keeping his expression calm and nonchalant. Barry had been fine with the theft until just now, and now he chose to get annoyed? "Stealing things from other people is what thieves do. You helped me plan, remember?"

"But I thought we were taking this from rich people or—or something. Not people who have nothing anyway. Charity isn't for rich people, Len. That's—That's on a whole different level of bad. You—We can't—We can't _keep_ this."

Len's eyebrows rose up. Barry couldn't be _serious_. "The jewelry?"

"Yes! We have to give it back. Make sure that it—"

"We don't give things back after we stole them. That's not how it works, Barry."

Barry hissed at Len for that. "Charity, Len! How can you not—"

"Think?" Len cut in sharply. This was getting ridiculous, and he couldn't believe that even without memories, without the imprint of being raised by a cop, Barry would be so stubborn and short-sighted. He couldn't believe Barry would be so terrible at being a criminal. "I touched the jewelry. So did you. If we give it back, it won't be sold anymore, because the auction is over. Owner takes it back, police take our finger prints, you lose your job, and everyone's looking to arrest us. That what you want, Barry?"

"I—No, of course not, but—" Barry faltered, sinking in on himself. Pressing his lips together in a tight line. It was obvious that he didn't like this, but at least he didn't look ready to return the jewelry to its previous owner _right this moment_ anymore. "We can't just keep this. The jewelry. The money. Whatever."

A tense silence followed Barry's words. Len thought things over for a moment—bringing the jewelry back was out of the question, of course, but it wasn't nearly as valuable as Barry's cooperation. And Len didn't feel like watching Barry have another breakdown, either, be it because of Len's lies or because Barry remembered something.

When Barry looked up after a while, his thick brows were furrowed, the frown directed at Len, but at least the younger man was waiting for his decision.

Eventually, Len sighed in exasperation. " _Fine_. How about this? I sell the jewelry, we give that money to a place you approve of. You make it up to me by stealing me something nice one of these days."

"I thought you said that I wasn't actively helping with stealing stuff," Barry questioned, though he didn't seem too adverse to the idea.

Len did his best to make his smile look genuine, to reassure Barry that this was okay. "If you get a handle on that speed of yours, I'm sure you can grab something. Nothing too secured, of course, but there are other options," he explained, feeling incredibly pleased when Barry nodded.

"If you say so. I mean, I can try?"

"All I'm asking, Sc—Barry," Len's smirk flickered for a second as he caught himself before using the familiar nickname, but then it was immediately back in place.

Barry didn't look worried, more excited if Len had to pin it down on one emotion. A familiar spark was in the young man's eyes that Len hadn't seen in a while, that made him want to get closer and _push_ , see what else he could get out of Barry with the right words, the right _touch_ —

Barry turned away to resume his Netflix marathon, and Len resolutely shook his head. What was he thinking? He had a job to plan, and if Barry was into men at all, he seemed a lot more interested in Rathaway of all people.

Len was doing this because Barry, the _Flash_ , made an incredible asset to his heists.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

One thing Barry could say for sure was that he loved Disney movies. Another thing he could say for sure: Three in a row were definitely more than enough. He'd only narrowly avoided breaking into tears twice, and he did not need to risk a third time. Especially not with Len across the room to witness that. Barry had had quite enough of Len seeing him break down, thanks.

So he decided to take a break from Netflix, and when he looked up, was pleasantly surprised by what he saw.

"It's snowing."

"Hm?" Len looked up from whatever he was working on, glanced at the huge white flakes outside for all of two seconds, then went back to his papers, utterly unimpressed. Barry couldn't believe that man.

"Len, it's _snowing_ ," he repeated, getting up and stepping closer to the window. The snow was melting as soon as it hit the ground, but it still filled up the air and looked utterly mesmerizing.

"Yeah, weather report said it might. Not the first time this winter, though," Len drawled, still not the least bit impressed.

"Well, it's the first time for _me_ ," Barry muttered. He felt a bit miffed at Len's attitude, but he didn't want to let that to ruin his mood.

"What are you, a puppy?" Len teased from behind him, earning himself a glare.

"Amnesic," Barry hissed, then turned back to take in the snow.

Snow on New Year's Day. That was nice. Even if it was already melting and not the first time this winter—for everyone else but Barry. He wondered if other people were showing more enthusiasm than Len, if his family did—if they were enjoying the holidays, or worried, if they had noticed that Barry was... gone.

Their Barry was gone.

And now he didn't even have the courage to face them again, tell them what had happened—

He stepped back from the window, feeling wobbly and slightly sick, his previous good mood gone. If only he wasn't such a coward. It wouldn't take much to go and talk to them, or even just send them a message that he was fine, only taking some time to himself or whatever other excuse he could come up with—

But he was afraid.

And they didn't even feel like his family anymore. He'd never talked to these people. Never met them, had only looked at their pictures and gotten a bit of info from Len. At this point, Len and Hartley and Shawna felt a lot more like family than Joe and Iris West did. And that only made Barry's guilt feel worse.

"You okay?" Len's voice pulled him from this thoughts.

Barry turned around, wondering how long he'd been standing in the room, deep in thought. After the memory the day before, Len was probably freaked out by that.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," he muttered, leaning against the back of the couch. "Just—y'know, thinking. Maybe I should check in on the Wes—my family."

Len gave him a critical look, and Barry fidgeted. "And how do you think that will go over? 'Hey Dad, Sis, Happy New Year. I've got amnesia and am living with a world-known criminal. Good talking to you, see you next month or so'."

Len's dry, drawling tone was doing nothing to make Barry feel better about this.

"Not like that," Barry hissed. "Just—I don't feel ready for talking to them yet. I just want to check in, make sure they're alright. That they're not worried about me or anything. Maybe leave a note saying that I'm fine, so they won't worry or get suspicious."

"Because a random note saying 'I'm fine, don't worry' won't be suspicious at all?" Len pointed out the flaw in that plan, and Barry bristled.

"No, just—I don't know, okay? But I feel bad, not contacting them at all. They have to have noticed that something's up by now, right? Christmas, New Year's, I spent all this time with you, and not them. That has to look strange to them, right?"

"And I spent all that time with _you_ ," Len countered. "No one's found that strange so far. Mick came by, I texted my sister, that's it. It doesn't have to be _strange_ that your not with your foster family 24/7."

"Well, yeah, but," Barry started, then frowned. Something about this felt wrong to him, but he couldn't say what it was. "What if my life wasn't like that? And, I mean, no offense, but—now that you mention it, it _is_ kinda' strange that you haven't been with friends or family at all this past week?"

"I'm not exactly what you would call a social butterfly, Barry," Len calmly pointed out, crossing his arms.

Barry wasn't satisfied with that kind of answer, though. "Yeah, but—what about your parents?"

"Mother's gone. Father's dead," Len replied, voice suddenly icy in a way that sent shivers down Barry's spine. He also couldn't miss the way Len tensed at the question, and immediately regretted bringing up the topic.

Now that he thought about it, he didn't know all that much about Len. He'd just assumed that things were—more okay for the other man.

"I'm sorry," Barry murmured, arms curling around his middle. He hadn't meant to drag up painful memories for his friend.

"Don't be," Len gave back, then, after a moment of hesitation—"killed the bastard myself."

"Oh." Barry's voice was quiet.

That—

He hadn't expected that.

Now he _really_ regretted asking about Len's family.

And admitting that was obviously not easy for Len, and Barry just hoped that he wouldn't say the wrong thing now, would find the right words to express his—what even, in a situation like this? Condolences? Congratulations? Heartfelt sympathy?

When Barry looked up, Len's lips were a tight line, fingers tapping out a rhythm on the table.

Barry took a deep breath, tried his best to sort out his thoughts. Find the right words for Len.

"I'm sorry your father was so—like that." His voice felt scratchy, throat too tight. He couldn't even imagine what that had to be like, how Len had felt in that moment—how anyone would feel. What life had to be like with a father like that, a father that one was willing to kill.

What _growing up_ had to be like with a father like that.

"Do you want a hug?" he asked, voice still quiet.

Len shook his head. "Not really a hugger, kid."

"Okay."

Silence took over the room.

And now Barry couldn't help but mentally catalogue Len's behavior. The way the older man was so wary of Barry meeting his family, even though Len didn't know them. The way Len had so few people close to him. How Len was so averse to touch. And still, he'd hugged Barry the day before when he'd broken down over remembering his mother's murder.

Now that gesture felt even more meaningful.

And it raised doubt in Barry's mind. What if his family had been like this, too? The biological or foster one, or both? Would he even remember? Probably not. That's what amnesia meant, right?

Or what if he wasn't in contact with them anymore, and staying away over the holidays without a single word was really not strange to them?

He just—

He needed to _know_.

He swallowed, voice still quiet as he spoke again, not wanting to disturb the odd mood that had settled over them. "I still need to see them. Just— _see_ them. Nothing more. I'll run over, take a look, then come back. With the snow outside, no one will even notice me or that—lightning stuff that's always trailing behind me when I run."

"That's a terrible idea," Len muttered dryly.

"I have to, Len," Barry tried to get his point across. "Just—not knowing is killing me. Just one look?"

Len glared at him until Barry felt ready to sink into the ground. Then, very slowly—" _Fine_. If you have to."

"Yes, I'll be back in a—"

"Don't talk to anyone. Don't let anyone see you. Otherwise it'll be a mess to explain later on. Understood?" Len was giving him a very stern look.

Barry shuffled his feet. "Yes, I'm not stupid."

Len nodded tersely. "Fine. Don't stay longer than absolutely necessary."

"Yes, Len," Barry rolled his eyes, a warm feeling blooming in his chest.

Len was worried for him. And now that Barry knew why Len was so distrustful, it was kind of making his heart ache for the older man, but it was also—endearing. Len was trying to keep him safe. And Barry was not going to let that be for nothing—just as he would definitely make sure to keep his friend safe in return, from now on. He might have amnesia, but after all he had super speed as well.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Len made him put on a hoodie, pulled deep into his face, so he wouldn't be recognized. A brilliant idea, really, except the hood was blown off his head approximately every three steps while he was running. And there were a _lot_ of steps between Len's place and the West's house.

At least Barry didn't lose his way, which he'd looked up with the help of Google Maps. And with the amount of snow still coming down, he felt fairly confident that tracking him from the air wouldn't be possible, either. Hopefully.

He checked the street before slowing down, making sure that no one was there to see him. Looking at the house that he'd marked he felt—

Nothing.

It looked just like any other house. Barry couldn't even say for sure if it was the right one.

He sighed. Maybe coming here had been a bad idea. What if looking at the Wests—the people who were supposed to be his _family_ —would feel the same? Just strangers whose names he'd learnt.

He didn't want that.

But now that he was already here, he didn't want to be a coward and leave without having accomplished anything, either. Not after Len had opened up to warn him of what he might be faced with. Not after insisting that he had to go.

And besides, he wasn't here to _talk_. The thought was calming now. He was just here to take a short look inside, make sure that Joe and Iris West were okay and not torn apart by his absence.

Not wanting to be caught peeking in, Barry walked around the house, relieved to spot windows there as well. He stepped closer to one at the back, glancing inside. And this close, he could even faintly hear _voices_ —

There were three people sitting around a table, talking to each other while eating. Barry recognized Joe West, the man who apparently was his foster father—and nothing came to mind. Nothing but a slight headache, anyway.

Then there was Iris West. No memories of her, either. Though like this, in person, she looked even more stunning. Barry's chest felt strangely warm, looking at her, and Barry couldn't tell if it was him, subconsciously remembering that she was someone important to him, or if it was his inappropriate sort-of crush rearing its head again.

He chose not to dwell on that any longer. It was bad enough that he'd fantasized about Len, he didn't need even more drama in his life. The amnesia was more than enough.

The third person at the table was someone Barry didn't recognize at all. Len hadn't mentioned anyone else being part of Barry's foster family, though the young black man did have a lot of similarity with Joe and Iris West. Not that that had to mean anything, maybe he was a cousin or distant relative, or just a friend of the family.

Still, the similarity was _striking_.

Iris West moved her head, looking up at the window—at _him_.

Oh, no, this wasn't good, this wasn't supposed to happen. He did not want to have to explain why he was standing outside and all but stalking his foster family.

In his sudden panic, Barry felt as if time was dilating around him, everything but him slowing down. All movement stilled, slowed to a crawl. The three people inside the house, the wind, even the snow stopped in the air. No more voices, rustling, everything was silent except for a far-away humming sound.

Barry could see every little movement on Iris West's face. The way her eyes widened in surprise, lips parting slightly, the way her long lashes brushed over her cheek as she closed her eyes in what had to be a blink—

She hadn't been supposed to see him. Barry wasn't ready, didn't feel up to talking to her or anyone yet.

As her eyes closed, he turned away and ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, yeah, so this is a bit later than anticipated. I caught a cold or soem shit and am currently revelling in the beaufiul feeling of being able to breathe through my nose for the first time in like a week. I also got sidetracked starting another fic, where the first time Len meets Barry Barry is actually undercover as "Sam". It needs some more working on, but maybe I'll upload it one of these days.  
> And I should be working on my report for university, but writing this is a lot more fun, so... hopefully no more skipping the weekly update. I hope those fancy images make up for it, because honestly, getting them in this chapter was an awful lot of work. As a general question, is it any good fancy like this?
> 
> Tbh, Len wasn't supposed to open up during this chapter, like, at all. He just did. And I feel like my document with scenes I ended up taking out entirely is long enough, so yeah, let's just roll with it.
> 
> And in case it isn't obvious, Lisa's going to show up next chapter. Some Snart sibling bonding time and other nice things as we work our way up to when everything will inevitably come crashing down. Which is still some time away, but I'm already looking forward to it so much :D


	14. Level Up

Iris didn't like to admit it, but their efforts to search for Barry had already decreased. They were still looking— _of course_ they were still looking, just—not as much as before.

The Atom had gone back to Star City yesterday, wanting to start the new year with his friends. Firestorm flew over the city fewer times as well. Cisco and Caitlin didn't spend as much time at STAR Labs anymore, and when they did, they did other things as well, like keeping an eye on potential meta humans wreaking havoc in the city.

Not that Iris could blame them. Both she and her dad had to go to their jobs, and after the first few days of running themselves haggard, it had become obvious that they couldn't keep this up. They had to eat, to sleep, preferably at home and in a bed, had people in their lives they needed to talk to.

Most of all Wally, who had come by a week ago. They'd missed his first visit, apparently, too caught up in the search for Barry.

Fortunately, Wally had come by again two days later, and been lucky to catch Joe who had been heading out to work.

And of course they couldn't—and didn't want to—push Wally out of their lives just because they were busy.

Iris didn't even want to imagine what it had to be like for her—her _brother_. Finally trying to reconnect to his family, his father and sister, only to find himself in front of a closed door first, then blown off because of work, and now only getting the barest of time because both of them were looking for Barry.

A guy Wally didn't even know, but who, in some ways, was more part of their family than Wally himself was, at least for now. Hopefully that would change with time. It certainly didn't help that both Iris and her dad were always itching to get back out when they met up with Wally, wanting to find clues to Barry's whereabouts. And making up excuses to Wally why Barry was so elusive, never around or even in contact, was something getting increasingly harder to do.

Iris didn't like it, beginning her relationship with her brother with so many lies. But 'By the way, the foster brother you've never met is the Flash and disappeared a week ago' wasn't something they could say. So they had to keep on lying, to protect Barry and the Flash and all their secrets.

Even though she felt guilty for that as well—not spending more time looking for Barry. It was strange enough that Barry had shown up that night by Jitters, only to run from Atom and Firestorm when they appeared.

Barry might be in god knows what trouble, needing their help, and here Iris was, trudging home through the snow, with a bag of Chinese take-out, enough for her as well as Joe and Wally.

West family bonding time.

An hour or two, so important and vital, getting to know Wally. Too little time.

An hour or two, entirely wasted by sitting around, not looking for Barry. Too long.

When she arrived home, both Joe and Wally were already there, Joe buzzing with the same nervous anxiety Iris felt, guilty for not looking for Barry, guilty for not paying more attention to Wally. And Wally obviously felt it—and Iris just hoped that he didn't misinterpret, didn't think that it was because of him, that he wasn't wanted, because he _was_ —twitchy and ready to leave any second.

It was tense, at first, and as always it took time for all of them to relax, to start talking, trying to connect.

From experience—the whole three previous times they'd met up—it wouldn't be borderline-comfortable for long. An hour at most before either Iris or her dad would feel the need to leave, all too aware of wasting their time like this when they should've been looking for Barry.

But they couldn't put their lives on halt, couldn't stop everything just because Barry was missing. It simply wasn't possible.

And Wally was her brother, too, deserved just as much attention. They already had so much to catch up on.

Iris was mostly done with her portion of fried noodles with chicken, scratching the last bits of her plate, when she got the nagging feeling that she was being watched. Shifting uncomfortably, she looked up, glancing at the windows, only to spot—

_Barry?_

She blinked.

No one was there.

"Everything okay?" Wally asked from her side, having picked up that something was bothering her.

She looked at the windows again. There wasn't anyone there.

No Barry.

She shook her head. She wasn't getting enough sleep, and maybe things were getting a bit too much for her.

Trying for a smile, she redirected her attention towards Wally. "I'm fine. Just a bit tired lately," she assured him.

But deep down, she couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't mistaken—that Barry had really been there. Reaching out to them, trying to get in contact, to make them realize—something.

Whatever it was, Iris would be sure to find out.

After all, one brother couldn't replace the other.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

When Barry arrived back at Len's house, he was still thrumming with energy, unable to slow down. It seemed like hours until the door finally opened after he'd knocked, and even then it happened in slow motion. Barry pushed inside as soon as he was able to, closing it behind him.

His gaze immediately settled on Len, whose eyes only slowly caught up to him. The older man's mouth opened, a low-pitched sound starting up, and it took Barry a moment to realize that Len had to be talking.

He focused on the sound, on Len, trying his best to slow down enough to actually interact with his friend.

"—rry," the man's voice filtered into his ears more clearly now, and Barry let out a sigh of relief, even with the way his entire body was still shaking, vibrating. He wasn't sure if it was from panic or too much energy.

"You okay?" Len asked after a moment, giving him a critical look as that was obviously not the case.

Barry clenched his vibrating fingers into fists. He still felt as if he had to run. He took a deep, shuddering breath, eyes wide with worry. "I think she saw me," he rasped out, chest feeling too tight. "Iris West."

Len's eyes narrowed, and Barry couldn't say if it was anger or worry or concentration, couldn't focus on any point for long enough to say anything for sure at all.

"Are you sure?"

"I—I think so, yes." His gaze flickered around the hallway, fists clenching and unclenching every few seconds, before he wrapped his arms around himself to dig his fingers into his biceps. That didn't help, either.

"Barry," Len's voice was calm and slow. Barry flinched as he felt a touch to his elbow, looking up to see Len's brows furrowed. Worry, maybe? His gaze moved on to a spot on the wall. "Calm down."

Len brushed his elbow again, and Barry dug his fingers in deeper. Only now he noticed that he was breathing heavily, short and too fast.

"I shouldn't have gone," he pressed out, closing his eyes. His chest felt too tight. He needed to _run_.

Len's hand moved up to his arm. "Calm down, Barry. Breathe."

Len's voice was so slow and settled. Barry opened his eyes, looking at Len for half a second before averting his gaze, fingers tapping out a nervous rhythm on his arms. "Can I—Can you—" He broke off, not sure how to ask for what he needed. Not sure what it even _was_ that he needed.

Len's hand moved up to his shoulder, gave it a squeeze. "Take a deep breath. Try to hold it in," he ordered, and Barry sucked in air sharply, feeling like he was going to choke on it.

Len's thumb was rubbing small circles over his shoulder now. Barry breathed out, then in, able to get in more air this time.

"That's it. Again," Len said, and Barry felt the sudden urge to stumble forward and hug Len until this terrible feeling was over. But Len hadn't wanted a hug before when he'd talked about his own father, so he certainly wouldn't want one now that Barry was the one in distress. So Barry settled for moving his still vibrating hand over Len's, holding it there.

"Can," he started, sucking in another gasping breath, "can you keep talking? Please?"

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Len nodding. "'Course, kid."

And Len did talk. About what they were going to have for dinner, and how he would prepare it, and moving on from there to how as a child, his little sister hadn't wanted to believe him that tomatoes were fruit. It went on from there.

Barry simply closed his eyes, letting Len's voice carry him, steady him in the here and now. His breathing slowed down after a few more hitches, as did the vibrating in his body. By the end of it, he simply felt tired, left with nothing but bone-deep exhaustion and a slight headache.

Len had moved him to sit on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket, and as Barry finally felt calm again, he realized that he had hardly noticed any of that happening.

Apparently Len picked up on how he felt better now, patting Barry's shoulder a few more times before getting up from the couch.

"I shouldn't've gone," Barry mumbled quietly, not sure if Len was even able to hear him. If the way the man stopped and turned towards him was any indication, he probably could. "I didn't recognize them at all. Nor the place. They were just—strangers you told me about." Barry swallowed. "But they seemed happy."

"I take it there aren't going to be any family visits in the foreseeable future?" Len asked, voice a bit more teasing now that Barry wasn't on the verge of breaking down anymore.

Barry choked on a laugh, shivering under the blanket. "Yeah, I guess so. Don't need a repeat of this just now. Len," he looked up, gaze inquisitive, "do you know if I had—have—a foster brother as well?"

Len's brows rose. "A brother? No, never heard of one."

Barry pulled the blanket tighter around himself. "Okay," he murmured. "There was just—this guy with them. He looked a lot like them."

"Never heard that West had a son, other than you. I can look into it if you want?" Len asked.

Barry thought it over for a moment, then nodded hesitantly. "Yeah, that would be nice."

"I will," Len assured him with a curt nod.

Barry almost felt a smile tugging at his lips. Seeing the Wests had been strangely upsetting, knowing that these people should mean so much to him, as they had before the amnesia, and yet not feeling anything at all. At least he had Len to rely on. Was it weird that seeing his foster family caused him to panic, but his former friend made for great support?

Before Barry could give it any more thought, Len spoke up again. "Take some time to rest. Then pack up."

"What?" Barry looked up in surprise. "Why?"

"We're moving safe houses. Someone could've followed you, and even if they didn't, there's still cameras all over the city. We have to stay on our toes," Len explained.

And that reasoning made sense to Barry, it did, really, "but—" this place was just starting to feel like home. He _knew_ things here.

Len shook his head. "No arguing. You don't want the Flash and his flying buddies to find us, do you?"

Barry pressed his lips together, grinding his teeth. "No, I don't," he relented after a moment of glaring.

But he didn't like it.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The new safe house was in a different part of town, and Barry wasn't sure if it couldn't even be considered a _house_. It seemed more like a warehouse or glorified storage unit. Something built for cargo, not people, in any way.

There were some walls drawn up on the interior, a makeshift kitchen and a few bedrooms, and one room with a whole lot of electronics and layouts, likely used for planning.

The damn thing took hours to warm up even slightly, and there was always something whirring or cracking or clicking. It was nerve-wracking. Barry hated it right from the start.

And because life apparently hated him, it all only got worse when he tried to go to sleep. The mattress was too hard, his pillow was too soft, and he was cold. Something was blinking obnoxiously in the corner of his room, and beeping in irregular intervals.

As if all of that wasn't bad enough already, Barry still had a headache. And as if to spite him, it got worse every time he closed his eyes, a pounding sensation in his brain that kept him from finding any rest.

Every time he got close to dozing off despite all of that, images were flickering behind his eyelids, too fast for him to take in. Barry couldn't even say if it were things he'd seen or memories from before the amnesia or dreams.

It was annoying and it was terrible and it was exhausting. Barry felt wrung out from the day he'd had, and now sleep seemed out of reach. It took him hours to finally nod off, and even then it wasn't restful.

When Len knocked to wake him for a very late breakfast, Barry felt less rested than the evening before.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

"You look like shit," Len commented over breakfast, which consisted of beans and corn heated up in a pot. There hadn't been anything but cans at the place when they'd arrived, and Len knew he'd definitely have to buy groceries later.

Barry glared at him silently, but with the way he looked, Len's comment had been more of a compliment, really. There were dark circles under bloodshot eyes, wrinkles on his right cheek from the pillow, and Barry looked ready to slump off the chair any moment now. Len didn't like it at all.

"I'll go buy groceries after meeting up with my sister. Anything you want?" he asked.

Barry only grumbled, voice rough, pushing a bean around on his plate.

So much for that attempt at improving Barry's mood. Len sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You wanna' talk to Shawna? You look ready to drop, Barry."

Barry grumbled again, but at least looked up from his plate to Len. "Unless Shawna is secretly a master of interior design and can turn this creepy place into something habitable, I doubt it," he muttered.

So that's what the problem was.

"We can move soon if you don't like it here. I'll get Piper's chip the day after tomorrow, we can go somewhere else then," he offered. Not that it really was an offer, moving places often when he was pulling so many heists was just the smart thing to do. And he knew that this place wasn't particularly inviting, but it didn't have any traffic cameras nearby, and had a lot of hidden exits, ensuring their escape in case anyone should come to ambush them.

Anyone like the Flash's friends, for example. If Barry was right and Iris West had really seen him, they would likely increase their efforts looking for their missing friend.

Though at this point Len was beginning to doubt if meeting his former friends would even do Barry any good. Just seeing his foster family had already been enough to nearly send Barry into a panic attack. Talking to the Wests might make things better, but it could also make them so much worse.

"Somewhere else would be nice," Barry muttered, now sounding more tired than angry. "And talking to Shawna, too. Sorry I'm being an ass. I'm tired."

"You're having a hard time adjusting. That's understandable," Len brushed it off, turning back to his own beans. Which really did taste horrible. Barry's sour mood was kind of justified.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

He dropped Barry off at Shawna's place with the bike. Every time Barry used his speed out in the open, they risked being found, and Len didn't need another chase through the city. Though it was quite annoying, not being able to make use of Barry's abilities now that the younger man was working _for_ instead of against him.

When he arrived at the diner, Lisa was already waiting, waving at him from a table in the back from where she could see exactly who came in and who passed by. Smart girl.

He had barely sat down across from her when the first question came already.

"So, who's that guy you're keeping such a big secret? How comes Mick gets to meet him and I don't?"

Her smile was all teeth and Len was already rethinking if meeting her for lunch had been such a smart decision.

"He's someone I need for a job, and Mick only met him because he dropped by unannounced," he answered calmly, taking off his jacket and reaching for the menu to look it over.

"So you're keeping him around? Don't tell me you're not fucking him," Lisa teased.

Len took his time looking through the menu and deciding on what he would have. Only then he looked up. "Things are complicated with this one," was all the explanation he offered. After all, he could hardly tell her that the Flash had amnesia and was on his way to becoming part of the Rogues.

Lisa's brows rose in disbelief. "Really? So what is it?" She cocked her head to the side, brown locks bouncing over her shoulders. "You have feelings for him? You have something on him? The other way around?"

Len carefully schooled his expression, not giving anything away. "He's involved in a job. The rest is irrelevant."

"Fine, be like that. You know I'll find out sooner or later," Lisa muttered, very maturely sticking out her tongue.

A waitress came by to take their orders, and when she left Lisa latched on to a new topic. "So, you need him for that huge heist you've mentioned?" Len gave a noncommitting nod. "You're being so secretive about that, too. Told me and Mick to lay low, and not even telling us what we're going to steal?"

"It's a surprise," Len drawled with a slight grin. To be precise, he still hadn't been able to decide what the grand score would be. Not many things had been out of his reach before, but with the Flash as his help, he'd have to aim high to make it worth his time.

Lisa snorted, glaring at Len for the time it took for the waitress to set down their drinks and walk out of earshot again. "So you're keeping a mystery guy around for a mystery heist, and you're not going to tell your favorite baby sister about it at all."

"Yes." Len grinned at her, well aware that not knowing would irk her to no end.

"Don't be like that, Lenny," she tutted. Clicking her nails on the table, she leant forward. "It has something to do with the Flash's disappearance, hasn't it?"

He let out a very controlled breath. He couldn't give anything away. Lisa was smart, but she couldn't possibly _know_ —

"What makes you think that?" he asked, voice unwavering.

Lisa rolled her eyes. "Oh, _please_ , Lenny. Don't insult me like that. You've been obsessed with the guy from day one—and I _know_ , Mick texted me daily updates about your rants when it started. Now the Flash hasn't been seen over a week, ever since fighting those two guys before Christmas, half the city thinks he's dead, the other half says he's just disappeared, everyone's going crazy. And here you are, sitting across from me, the very image of calmness. All _you've_ done has been calling us a day later, telling us to lay low for a huge heist coming up. Not one word about the Flash. You can't expect me to believe that those two things are not connected."

"Maybe I've got my eyes on bigger prizes by now. The Flash interfering with our heists _has_ been nothing but a nuisance." He leant back in his seat, giving Lisa a level look. Some days his sister's sharp mind could be a pain. "I thought this was supposed to be lunch, not an interrogation."

She rolled her eyes, biting her lower lip all the time it took for the waitress to bring their food and leave again, then leant forward, her fork pointed at Len accusingly. "Don't be like this, Lenny. _Share_."

Picking at his sandwich, Len gave himself a moment before he looked at Lisa again. "I told you, there's nothing to it," he insisted. "Just lay low, and I'll tell you all about the heist once I've got the details down."

Lisa glared at him, driving her fork into the fries with a bit more force than necessary. For a second, Len dared to hope that now she would finally let the topic go. Then a sickly sweet smile settled on Lisa's face, and he knew he was fucked.

"You know," she began, voice at exactly the right sweet, murderous cadence to match the smile, "the _strangest_ thing happened to me yesterday. Cisco texted me—one of the Flash's friends, built our guns, saved my life, you remember?—and asked me if you had told me anything about the Flash. Because the fast guy is missing ever since fighting 'Trickster' and 'Weather Wizard', and his friends are getting a bit desperate looking for him."

Len grit his teeth. "Don't see what that's got to do with me."

Lisa's smile widened. "Oh, but you see, those two _did_ ask you to take part in their 'revenge on the Flash' plan, Cisco told me. And you didn't sign on, and instead even took it upon you to _warn_ the Flash. Now his friends are worried sick, and dear Cisco thought, _maybe_ you'd know something. Some additional plan they had for their revenge, that would lead to the Flash disappearing." Lisa shook her head, gracefully bit a fry in half. "I told him, of course, that my dear brother would _never_ do anything ridiculous like _stealing the Flash_."

Giving her a critical look, Len waited for a moment for Lisa to go on. When nothing came, he spoke up. "Since you already know that, I don't see why—"

" _But_ ," Lisa cut him off sharply, and now Len regretted teaching her how to throw people off balance by cutting them off when they were trying to make a point, "now you're sitting here, and not worried about the Flash at all. After not shutting up about him for over a year. And now I'm thinking, _maybe_ Cisco wasn't entirely wrong when he said you might know something." She gave him an expectant look, waiting.

"I've no idea what happened to the Flash," Len lied blatantly.

He didn't particularly enjoy lying to Lisa—about anything, really—but he wouldn't risk his plan failing, just on the off chance that Lisa might blab to the Flash's little scientist friend. Not that he thought she would, Lisa was a lot smarter than that, but—

There was no need to share this secret with Lisa. Like this, she wouldn't be forced to lie to Cisco, who she seemed quite fond of.

And who knew, what if she had objections to lying to an amnesic Flash to get his cooperation? To keeping him around despite his deteriorating mental health? Doing these things wasn't necessarily... okay.

After the silence had dragged on too long for Lisa's liking, she sighed heavily. " _Fine_. Be like that, Lenny. I just hope you know what you're doing." The fork was once more pointed at his throat. "And _tell me_ about it once you've gotten over yourself, you stubborn ass."

"Whatever gets you to shut up about this, Lise," Len grumbled with a slight smile. At least now he would finally get to eat in peace, and hopefully Lisa would leave the topic alone for... forever. And there was one very nice way to ensure that. Len put on his most charming smile. "So, what have you been up to, dear sister?"

Lisa's smile widened. "Only good things."

What followed was a very detailed retelling of Lisa's newest exploits—apparently 'laying low' didn't cover swiping a necklace for a couple thousand dollar—and destroying strangers' crumbling relationships when out at a bar.

When they paid and parted ways, it involved a half-voluntary promise from Len to meet up again soon, and a threat from Lisa that if she didn't meet the mystery man soon, she'd drop by unannounced as well one of these days.

Len took a deep breath before driving off, telling himself that no, Lisa hadn't managed to worm any secrets out of him, and that also no, he wasn't keeping this from her because he thought it possible that there was something wrong about keeping Barry around.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Cisco had always liked to think of himself as a very optimistic person. As such, he chose to see Iris' insistence at having seen Barry the day before as a good sign.

As in, Iris was not losing her mind over worrying for Barry and sleeping to little. And Barry was not dead or terribly hurt, since he was apparently still able to run by the Wests' house.

But even so, interpreting things that way also meant accepting that Barry was staying away from them, despite nothing keeping him away.

There had to be a reason for that, though.

Ray had left to spend New Year's in Star City, and Jax and Professor Stein had cut down on flying over the city by now as well. It was obvious that Barry was capable of getting their attention, whenever he so chose, be it by running to Jitters or flashing to the Wests' house. Apart from those two occurrences and finding the Flash suit in a dumpster—something they would definitely be talking about once they found Barry, and the speedster better have a damn good reason for doing that to Cisco's precious suit—there had been no sign of Barry.

None. Nada.

With things being like that, they were now focusing more on waiting for Barry to show up again, instead of actively searching for him. It was the logical thing to do. Though Cisco couldn't help but feel a little guilty, as if they were abandoning Barry.

He and Caitlin had taken to work shifts at STAR Labs, keeping an eye on traffic surveillance, news reports and anything else that might help. Occasionally Jay, Iris, Joe and the two parts of Firestorm would drop by, but mostly it was just the two of them. Though since Felicity was doing better now—as in not on the brink of death anymore, but paralyzed—Oliver had announced that he would look into things as well.

Cisco had gotten all fired up, hoping to see the Green Arrow in action again, or maybe the Black Canary would drop by, which would be even _cooler_ —but as it turned out, all he and Caitlin got was a call from Oliver.

A fucking _phone call_.

At least that way Oliver wasn't able to see Cisco glaring at him.

"So all in all, we can conclude that Barry is alright and capable of going back to you, but staying away for unknown reasons," Oliver's tinny voice came from the phone that they'd put on speaker. "In that case, your best bet is to find out _why_ he's staying away."

"No shit, Sherlock," Cisco grumbled so quietly that Oliver wouldn't hear him—hopefully—but Caitlin gave him a scathing look for the comment.

"It could be someone blackmailing him, telling him to stay out of contact. Or he might have his own reasons for staying away. Maybe he's being followed and doesn't want to lead anyone to you. Or there might be something else, something we haven't thought of yet. It would help a lot if we could narrow it down. Are you sure he hasn't left any clues whenever you saw him?"

"Yes, quite sure," Caitlin responded to Oliver's theories. "Neither Professor Stein and Jax nor Ray were able to find anything when they lost him, and Iris said that he ran off the second she noticed him. There were no notes, he didn't talk to them, nothing. It doesn't make sense."

"It seems like he's trying to make contact, but can't, for some reason. Showing up just to run off again," Cisco added.

There was a moment of silence before Oliver spoke up again. "You should try to gather more intel on that, if at all possible. Have you checked other ways he might have used to contact you? Phones, email, maybe some sort of emergency contact?"

"Dude, we even checked for large amounts of his favorite food being bought in Central City. We're _trying_ , okay?" Cisco muttered, feeling a bit exasperated. Sure, the Green Arrow was a pro at this, but they weren't _completely_ incompetent. He'd even reached out to Lisa Snart in his more desperate moments, but that had been a dead end. If she wasn't lying to his face—screen, whatever.

"We stopped that when we sent in Ray and he ended up crashing a late Christmas party," Caitlin added. "It seems Barry's not the only one who likes to order large amounts of sushi and mac & cheese at the same time."

"You should keep monitoring things like that. He might try to give you hints to his whereabouts like this," Oliver suggested, followed by a short moment of silence. "Either way, it might not be the worst idea if you came up with some way to—contain him, whenever he shows up next."

"Dude, are you talking about taking Barry in _by force_?" Cisco sputtered disbelievingly, almost slipping off his chair in surprise. Perhaps he shouldn't have slouched as much. But still, Oliver couldn't possibly be serious about that?

"Yes, I am," Oliver answered, and it might have been the phone, but he _sounded_ entirely serious. "He's obviously _trying_ to alert you to something by showing up again and again. Getting him to stay and talk, if only just a few words, is what we need to make way in this situation. I'm not talking about attacking him, but something to dampen his powers so he can't run off or maybe a sedative would accomplish that. If you can work something like that out, that is."

Of course they _could_. That was out of question, especially since they'd been working on similar things to bring down Zoom already.

No, the question was if they should and wanted to use some of that stuff on Barry. Their _friend_.

"I'm not saying you have to," Oliver said, interpreting Cisco's and Caitlin's silence as reluctance—rightly so. "But having something ready just in case you need to use it certainly won't hurt."

"I—might have something like that," Caitlin offered after a moment of hesitation. Cisco tried his best not to look too disapproving. Were they really considering this? "It's an analgesic. I started it to help alleviate pain whenever Barry gets injured, but if I modify it enough, it should technically be able to work as a sedative, slowing Barry's speed and potentially knocking him out."

"You should do that and prepare some. Just in case it becomes necessary," Oliver instructed. "Keep me updated on the situation and good luck."

There was a quiet _beep_ as the call was ended.

Cisco sighed deeply. Now here was to hoping that Oliver was wrong. Couldn't things just be nice for once and Barry come back with a perfectly good and not worrisome reason for where he'd been all this time?

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Barry had spent the first half of his time with Shawna complaining about things. Len's cold and ugly safe house, the headaches, the insomnia, the nightmares. The flashes of images that were always just out of reach. The panic and anxiety that overcame him whenever he thought of getting in contact with any part of his former life.

Shawna for her part listened carefully, gave her input, and despite her repeated 'I'm not a therapist, I can't really help you with this', Barry felt a great deal better once he'd talked about everything. And all the input like "Guilt from not recognizing former friends might be the reason seeing them upsets you so much" and "I think you're afraid to remember things, because it might not work—or if it works, it could fundamentally change who you currently are" sounded a _lot_ like what Barry imagined a therapist would say.

Talking to Shawna felt so easy, and part of him wondered if it was because the woman had so much similarity with Iris West, who he'd been close with before. At least in appearance. Sort of. He couldn't say anything for personality, since he technically didn't _know_ Iris West.

The thought that he got along so well with Shawna because of that similarity didn't sit particularly well with him. He didn't want to think that all his new friends were just replacements for old ones.

And besides, Shawna didn't cause the same feelings to flutter up as Iris West had. Seeing Iris West had been all butterflies in his stomach, guilt for not remembering, and feeling terribly out of place.

Shawna was someone who kept suggesting silly games to him until he finally agreed to play, and in the end, it cheered him up a lot. It certainly helped that he knew a lot of them already, and could revel in another bit of knowledge from _before_.

Though deep down, he couldn't help but feel a little guilty for not telling her about his powers. Len had told him not to, and he supposed that it made sense, what with Shawna having been locked up by the Flash. But Len and Hartley were the Flash's enemies, too, and they didn't seem to mind his super speed at all.

And he had a vague feeling that he simply couldn't shake, that he wouldn't be able to keep his powers a secret forever, and that when people found out, they would be angry.

He wasn't sure if it made him feel better or worse that Shawna was using her powers quite freely around him. As soon as there was a distance of more than a few steps to bridge—not that Shawna's place was particularly big—Shawna would teleport with a 'poof'ing noise, that Barry got used to quite soon.

He supposed that it was a sign of good character that Shawna used her trick only once to try and cheat. Not that Barry wouldn't have done the same, if Shawna had known about his speed.

By the time Len came around, Barry didn't feel as tired anymore, nor as grumpy.

"Hey," Barry greeted the man with a wide grin. "Had fun with your sister?"

"Lots," Len drawled, in a tone that made it difficult for Barry to tell if he was being serious or sarcastic. "How 'bout you? You look less terrible than before."

Barry stuck out his tongue. "Shawna taught me the fine art of card games."

"Which he sucks at, by the way," Shawna threw in at that point, grinning widely. "Except for Mau Mau. And lock picking. Your boy now _excels_ at lock picking. You can thank me for that one later."

"She taught you how to pick locks?" Len asked with a raised brow, and Barry nodded proudly.

"Apparently I'm a natural talent," he boasted his new skill. It still counted if he'd secretly used his speed and vibrating to help things along a little, right?

"And after that I taught him how to break someone's fingers if they get too grabby," Shawna added.

Len's other brow rose to match the first one already near his hairline. "Really?"

"Shawna says I'm too handsome not to know," Barry explained, shifting a bit. "Though honestly, I don't plan on using that. Ever."

"Let's hope so, yes," Len muttered. "You good to go?"

Barry glanced over at Shawna before nodding. "Yeah."

"Bye, Barry." Shawna waved. "Text me if you need someone to talk to."

Barry nodded gratefully and waved in return. Shawna had mentioned before that he could text or call her if he felt too terrible. With a very pointed look that made it clear she was referring to nightmares and other... _issues_. Barry had hugged her for the offer, but also really hoped that he would not need to do so at any point.

Shawna had helped him cheer up, he and Len had a heist to plan, and he did not at all want to go back to his terrible mood from this morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original plan was that Len would lie to Lisa, but the lady wouldn't let herself be treated like that when I wrote her. Still works, though. Just one more thing for Len to worry about :)
> 
> So we're playing another round of Old Friends vs New Friends, and enjoying a bit more peace before the action (like I didn't mention the upcoming hesit enough or anything).
> 
> I've finally started learning for my exam next month, which I've procrastinated on so far. Now it's way too much to do, I'm cursing last month's me, and instead of learning, I'm sitting here writing fanfiction at 4:30 am.  
> So just a fair warning, updates might get less regular for now. I'll try to keep up, though. Next chapter will have Hartley and a bit of Mick, since Barry needs good friends before The Point When Things Go To Shit, as I've labeled it. And there have to be nice things while I'm still emotionally compromised from the newest episode of LoT.


End file.
